compilation DPSM
by jaceyrose18
Summary: Adtong nahigugma ko.. I learn everything..Magpa ngit2.. moikyas sa gabie bahalag kasab an pero sa dihang nasakitan nako, sakto jud sila.. "dele mao ang akong gibati nga gugma.."
1. SPIDEYPOOL

**SPIDEYPOOL**

 **chapter 1**

Peter honestly had no idea how he kept getting into these situations. Well... That was a lie. He would blame his "Parker luck" up and down and feign innocence but the reality hit him like a goddamn bullet narrowly missing his right femur as it tore through the side of his leg. He was getting sloppy. Really, he'd always been sloppy (as was to be expected with his exactly zero years of training), but lately he was getting dangerously sloppy. A certain level of gained confidence leant toward an over-optimistic attitude, which then lead him to take on far too much in his life under the impression that he could handle it now. In other words, he got cocky and bit off more than he could chew. Too many college courses, a job, an internship, friends and family were weighing down on him. That was exhausting on its own.

Add in super-heroing junk, and it was a complete nightmare.

Even with the exhaustion, he couldn't believe he'd actually been careless enough to let a bullet hit him. But to be fair, he was sporting a probably broken rib to boot. A small part of him just wanted to curl up in a little ball and wish it over. Fights could be horrifyingly enjoyable when he was kicking ass. The effects of the adrenaline rush alone were hard to argue with. He was just so tired now, though, and everything hurt. His brain was a constant flood of warnings about the movement around him, and there were just so many people to fight off. The anxiety kept pooling, but it wasn't just the basic instincts. He was also terrified to just end it because it meant using his full strength. That could kill someone. That was bad.

It seemed to keep going forever. Seconds dragged on for eternity. He could hear his panting breaths starting to come with a rattling in his chest. Oh, that was a bad sign.

The panic was really starting to set in with a vague tingling sensation at the top of his scalp—like his spidey sense, but completely opposite in that he was sliding into dissociation.

But, instead of a panic attack, it was followed with a massive thud. His vision blacked out and he slumped over, collapsing on the concrete. It would occur to him much later that someone must have really swung at his head with something heavy and with an inhuman amount of force to knock him out that quickly.

Or maybe he was already incredibly concussed.

 **chapter 2**

Peter fell in and out of consciousness for a while. Mostly he got sounds. Strangely the thing that brought him around the first time was the sudden lack of being beat up on. In the absence of physical contact, he could hear screaming. He took note of the hard ground beneath him—the rough texture he could feel through the thin mask covering his skin. It was cold, and that was good. His injuries felt hot.

Then he couldn't feel it at all.

He heard a rough voice. It was difficult to focus on the syllables. They sounded foreign even though they weren't. Try as he might, comprehension kept slipping through his grasp; it was liquid and flowing in a warm stream from his head. Instead, he listened to the cadence. It was hardly melodic, all raspy and rough with jarring inflections that kept him from drifting off every time he started. But even that started to develop a pattern that his tired mind got used to. The voice like tires on gravel began to become relaxing, soothing, flowing...

And the world went silent again.

Next he felt pain. He fell suddenly on something soft, but he hurt enough that it felt like concrete. The texture was at least smooth and comfortable. So smooth. He could hear the gravel voice again. It lifted as though asking a question. He groaned in response. It was brighter, wherever he was. He could see it from behind his eyelids. He tried to peel open his eyes to see what was happening, but they felt like lead. It was a struggle, but he got a blurry flash of colors as he blinked a few times. He could feel hot, liquid trails drip from the corners of his eyes.

More pain followed. He could feel hands manipulating him. Something caused a burning sensation on his leg and then over a few other lacerations. Disinfectant, he realized belatedly. That must be it.

The light went out and suddenly everything was black, empty, and without temperature.

 **chapter 3**

When Peter next woke, he groaned loudly at the sudden influx of pain. He kept his eyes closed, not truly wanting to be awake. He was in bed. Did he need to be up now? Did he have plans? He tried to rake through his mind for the memory of what today was. Then it all came flooding back. He had followed a scream and jumped into action, like with every other patrol. Turned out it was an ambush from a local gang that was none too happy about his interferance with their operations over the years. He'd been knocked out. And then...

And then...

His eyes snapped open, and he sat up with a start. That was a mistake because it made every injury scream at once. He got dizzy. Then he got nauseous. It took a few minutes to convince his stomach not to empty its contents all over his lap. When his head finally cleared of buzzing, he was able to regain his train of thought. Namely, the question of where in the hell he was.

After blinking a few times, his vision focused, and he tried to take in his environment. He was in a small room that barely fit a bed, a chair, and a small dresser that doubled as a bed-side table. He could tell the latter use was intended by the full glass of water and couple of pills sitting near him.

It wasn't until he caught site of the water that he realized how dry his throat was. Without a second thought, he grabbed the glass and downed it in huge gulps. Some fell down his chin and wet his shirt, but it was a necessary sacrifice to quench his thirst. He grabbed the wet fabric tightly in his fist as thought it would somehow dry it faster.

It took a moment for it to register that when he passed out, he had been in his Spider-Man garb. He quickly let go of the shirt to feel for any sign of his mask on his face, but all he found was bare skin and hair.

Ah, hell.

He put the glass back and stared dubiously at the pills. They looked like ibuprofen, but he couldn't be sure. It was better not to take strange pills, so he didn't.

He went back to taking stock of what was around him.

There were two doors. One was open to show off a closet filled with boxes and a pile of laundry of indiscriminate cleanliness. The other was closed, but light flooded in from the gaps. Aside from that, there was a small window. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to fit through the narrow thing to be honest, but it didn't matter either way because there were bars.

Well, if that wasn't just the most inconvenient fire hazard, he thought bitterly.

Carefully, he pulled back the covers and tried to get himself on his feet. He couldn't help the groans of pain as he moved, but he was careful not to exasperate any of his injuries. Using the wall for balance, he limped over to the door. It was only a few steps, but it took frustratingly long to get there.

The door also took frustratingly long to open, but that was because the knob seemed to be jammed and took a considerable amount of effort to open—he was kind of afraid of breaking it. Finally, it swung open with a loud creak, opening up to a single, fairly small room with a kitchen area on one side and a living room area on the other, divvied up by the placement of the couch. It was messy but well kept with only a little actual damage here and there.

None of these things Peter noticed because with the sound of the opening the door, his host, who appeared to have been napping on the couch, suddenly jumped onto his feet the way most people would react to being woken by a scream or a gunshot. The immediate action put Peter in defensive mode, meaning that he actually climbed halfway up the wall backwards before he was even really able to take in who his "host" was.

"Woah, Jesus, Spidey," The man grumbled in his voice so normally rough that it was hard to tell whether it sounded sleep-logged or not. "Ya almost gave me a heart attack there."

He suddenly frowned in a way that was somehow obvious through his red and black mask. His gloved hands moved to his hips, in a kind of scolding mother pose. "You climb right back down, mister, or you'll ruin my stitching."  
Peter had no idea what he meant by that, and in the contrary, kept climbing until he was firmly on the ceiling. In the process, something tore on his leg. He could feel its wetness when the fabric of the sweatpants he was wearing stuck to it. His brain was running a thousand miles a minute. His mask was off. He was injured. He was in an apartment with Deadpool.

Deadpool.

The person he probably trusted the least, even behind half the villains he fought. At least with them, he knew what their game was.

"Where's my mask?" he demanded, louder than he expected. His breaths were beginning to come harder and faster, and he could feel the heavy beats of his heart agains his ribcage.

Deadpool winced, putting his hands up in a way meant to pacify. It didn't work in the slightest, of course. "Now, Spidey. Spider-man. Spides. I really tried to avoid touching it. I mean it. I respect the whole mask thing. It's your thing. I get it. You like your privacy. But you got knocked around the head pretty bad. Could feel blood through it, you know? I couldn't just let that go cause head injuries are the worst. Hurt like a bitch. Bleed like crazy. Can be pretty hard to come back from. So you know, I-"

"You took off my mask!" Peter shouted, feeling betrayed, more so by the universe than anything else. After all, he didn't exactly have positive expectations from Deadpool of all people, and betrayal required a certain amount of expectation.

But now that the man knew what he looked like, it'd be easy for someone like him to track down his personal information. He'd probably get a high price for it, too.

Peter couldn't list all the people on one hand that would pay a pretty penny for his identity to get revenge.

Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god.

His breaths came in heavy puffs and the tingling sensation in his head came back. Physical panic made the dull ache from his head injuries hurt more somehow. The room started to distort and blur, feeling distant and strange.

 **chapter 4**

Deadpool moved very slowly, walking over to get underneath Peter. "Hey, Spidey. What does a spider do when he gets angry? He goes up the wall!"

Peter narrowed his eyes. Somehow that stupid joke managed to pull him back into his body. He used the opportunity to ground himself, concentrating more on the feeling of ceiling beneath his hands and feet rather than the specifics of the situation.

Meanwhile, Deadpool told more terrible spider jokes. Mostly they were just really terrible "web" or "spin" puns. Low hanging fruit at best. When Peter finally was able to get his breathing evened out, he told him as much. "You're not funny."

"Yeah, that's what my dear old mom said when I pointed out the irony of calling me a 'son of a bitch,'" the man continued in what was probably an attempt at a genial tone. He seemed to think for a couple seconds before blurting out excitedly, "Oh, hey, I got one I bet you never heard before! What do you get when you cross a squirrel with a spider?"

"What?"

"A bug that will run up your leg and eat your nuts!"

Peter smacked a hand against his grinning face. Despite himself, the joke got a surprised laugh out of him. He kept the hand over his face even as the smile dissapated.

"You good now, Spidey?"

"Define good."

"Do you mind skittering down now, buddy?"

Peter sighed heavily. There was a slight pain in his chest but nothing too terrible. He debated the pros and cons of just crawling over to the nearest window and jumping out, but from what he could tell, the other two windows also had bars. Where the hell was this apartment?

"First of all," he started, sounding a hefty mix of tired and angry. "I'm not your buddy. What am I doing here, Deadpool? What's your game? Are you connected to the people I was fighting? Did they hire you?"

Deadpool lifted his hands in the defensive position for a second time, and Peter jumped slightly at the sudden movement. "Woah, woah, woah there. I just saw you get smacked pretty hard in the head when I was out on a surveillance gig. I tend to stay away from that particular crowd. You know, they're pretty anti-mutant."

"You're not a mutant."

That earned him a pout. "Says you."

Peter rolled his eyes and put his hand back on the wall behind him. The position wasn't doing his injured ribs any favor. "What am I doing here, then?"

"You're making your injuries worse like a complete dumb-ass is what you're doing." There was a frustrated bite in his voice that naturally sounded dangerous, regardless whether it actually was or wasn't. He let out a heavy sigh and carefully backed away a little. "Spidey, I get you don't trust me. That's fine, but I can tell you're bleeding again, and it can't be comfortable up there. One way or another you're gonna have to come down. Please don't make me get a broom. It'd be embarrassing for the both of us."

 **chapter 5**

It took another five minutes of gentle coaxing (read: obnoxious jokes and vague broom threats) before Peter finally got too sore to keep holding his weight up in that weird angle and crawled back down the wall. Deadpoool seemed to soften, as if he felt he won Peter over somehow, which only caused Peter to tense up more.

He didn't like the mercenary thinking he trusted him in any capacity. If he were in better shape, he'd retaliate, but as it stood, there was no way Deadpool wouldn't wipe the floor with him in a fight. Sure, he claimed to be concerned with Peter's injuries, but how long would that last if Peter pushed the envelope too far? It was best to take the "care" as it came until he was well enough to fight his way out if necessary.

He struck the thought of the massive breech of privacy with the removal of his mask from his mind for the moment, deciding it was best to open that can of worms when he was prepared to deal with what came out.

"C'mon, kid, let's go check out the new hole you tore yourself."

It was legitimately impossible to roll his eyes any harder than he did at that sentence. Everything about it was bad, and he very much resented being called a kid. He was too old for that patronizing bullshit; could rent a car all by himself and everything. What he managed to get out, though, was a petulant "I'm not a kid."

Oh, yeah, great going Pete. That's super convincing.

Deadpool, for his part, didn't react. He just ushered Peter into the bathroom.

It was a really freaking nice bathroom.

The rest of the apartment was cramped and horrible in that NYC way that was almost impossible to avoid in the city unless you really raked in the big bucks. A mercenary of Deadpool's reputation probably should be, but it wasn't surprising he'd be in a shit apartment given how disorganized he was as a whole.

The bathroom, though... The bathroom...

It had a big, deep tub with a fancy shower-head hanging above it. The toilet was clean and big with a plush seat. The sink space was huge with all kinds of fancy creams and soaps hanging out on it. It was like walking into part an of an entirely different building. What the hell?

Deadpool interrupted his thoughts by flipping the lid of the toilet down and sitting on it. "Kay, Imma need you to pull your—well, technically my—pants down."

"Excuse me," Peter said blankly, not sure how to react.

"Your pants. Pull them down."

"Uh... no. How about I don't do that?"

"Look, kiddo. I already saw your underoos when I was patching you up the first time. They're boring. And your owie is too high up to just pull up the pant leg."

"Stop that! I'm not a kid!" Honestly the condescension was making the whole scenario worse.

"Coulda fooled me with that attitude." Ah, there was that dangerous edge—the real one and not just the fact that his voice naturally sounded menacing. "Listen. I didn't spend a good fifteen minutes painstakingly picking fibers out of your leg so it wouldn't go septic just so that you could bleed out 'cause you're too prissy to take your pants off for strangers. You wanna be treated like a big kid? Act like it."

"Fine!" And with that, Peter quickly pushed the sweatpants down to his knees. "Happy now?"

 **Chapter 6**

Deadpool let out a short gruff laugh with all the musicality of a smoker's rasp. Peter could barely keep himself from wincing because it sounded almost painful.

"Jeeze, if I knew that's all it took to get your pants off," Deadpool said and reached out to manipulate his left thigh in order see the spot better. It wasn't bleeding quite so much anymore since the blood had some time to clot, but it was deep and jagged. Bullets did ugly things to flesh. "Looks like you've got a bit of a healing factor. Like a reeeeal liiiitttle bit. The edges are smoothing out a little."

"Yeah, it takes me a few days less to heal from stuff than most people," he volunteered, feeling a little awkward. Honestly, standing this close to a trained killer with said trained killer's intense stare focused on a gunshot wound on his leg was not good for his heart. The comment about getting his pants off made him more uncomfortable. It was probably meant to lighten the mood but all it did was make him feel more exposed and vulnerable. That wasn't a very good feeling, and it'd been a while since he'd been aquainted with it to this level.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard as Deadpool pressed a gloved finger against the uneven tear.

"You usually get stitches for stuff like this?"

"Sometimes.," was his vague answer. He got hurt a lot, but rarely bad enough to need stitches. The last time he'd benefited from having been out with the Fantastic 4, and they were pretty generous with their medical care. Only once had he walked into the ER and that had been a goddamn nightmare. He was pretty sure he had real nightmares about the medical bills for years after.

"Well, my wall-crawling friend... This is going to suck for you. Like a whole lot."

Deadpool looked up at him to make eye contact. Well, one-sided eye contact, anyway.

He paled a bit.

"What do you mean by that?" And, to Peter's credit, he kept his voice from shaking.

"I mean you're starting to heal on the sides here, you see? It's not gonna be as numb around the edges anymore. I mean, stitches don't hurt nearly as much as cauterizing, believe me, but it ain't fun."

"Please, keep going. You're really talking up this whole process for me. Really."

There came that ugly laugh again, and Peter just wanted to smack him. This wasn't funny. Just because he seemed utterly immune to how much pain actually hurts didn't mean he was allowed to be a dick to people that were reasonably averse to it.  
Deadpool patted his leg above where the sweatpants were bunched up but low enough that it didn't effect the wound too much aside from a small warning pang. Peter stepped back, which was apparently what Deadpool wanted because the man got up and immediately started fumbling through the medicine cabinet.

"Did you take the pills I left out for you?" He didn't look back at Peter as he spoke.

"Nope."

"Good," he mumbled before thrusting pill bottle into Peter's face. "Here, take a couple of these."

"Nope."

"I mean, you were the one grumbling about pain just a minute ago..."

"That doesn't mean I'm going to take some random pills you throw at me."

"You know, you're being a real pain in the ass for someone that just got shot and beaten."

"I, personally, think that's the perfect time to be a pain."

Deadpool sighed heavily. Could a sigh be threatening? Because it genuinely made the hairs on the back of Peter's neck stand straight up. Part of him just wanted to climb back up the wall and take a nap on the ceiling. The last 48 hours were the worst he could remember in a long time, and it should be against the law to hurt as much as he did.

He counted his breaths, trying to calm his anxiety a little before he spoke again.

And, he took the pills from Deadpool.

"All right..."

Deadpool moved into the doorway as Peter popped a couple of pills into his mouth and watched as he used his hand to cup some water from the sink to help swallow them. Peter closed his eyes again and tried to will his heart to stop beating so hard. It hurt his lungs and felt heavy against his sore ribs.

Afterward, Deadpool moved into the kitchen and his "guest" followed. It took a little rummaging, but he finally managed to find an old, battered first-aid kit. Peter felt a little more disheartened since really he only could have used the thing a couple of hours ago.

This time, it was his turn to watch as the man as he cut a bit of what looked like fishing line and stuck it and a needle into a cleaned out whipped cream container. Then, he poured in a generous amount of rubbing alcohol.

"We won't start until the meds kick in, and you're all numb." In most circumstances that would be comforting, but Peter didn't want to lose his wits at the moment, despite having taken the pills voluntarily. Well, mostly voluntarily.

"Why do you even have a first aid kit when your whole thing is being Mr. Indestructible?" he blurted out in a moment of mouth diarrhea.

"I wasn't always "Mr. Indestructible," babe, and old habits die hard." He motioned for Peter to sit down at one of two kitchen chairs, and then added humorlessly, "And sometimes I forget what year it is, so I go looking for it."

Starting to feel too tired to continue putting up a fight, Peter followed the instruction and sat. "You forget that easily?"

"That easily? Babe, memories can get all shuffled when you get hit on the head one too many times. I regrow parts of my brain basically bi-weekly." Deadpool went over to the counter where the instruments were soaking. While he had his back turned, he changed his gloves into blue latex free ones. Those appeared to be in a box just sitting on the counter and used regularly, which struck Peter as weird.  
He took the instruments and the rest of the first aid kit and brought them over to the table before sitting across from Peter.

"Is that why your so crazy?" The more the pills kicked in, the more mouth diahrea became a Real Problem. Fear and vicodin were apparently the mortal enemy of well thought out responses.

Deadpool's mouth twisted into a wry smile, but it was muffled enough by the mask that Peter didn't catch the expression. "Oh, sweatheart, there's a lot of stuff banging around up there before you even get to that."

"You're hard as hell to read," Peter confessed, he was getting a little dizzy and tired.

"So I've been told," which was quickly followed by, "So, you ready for this?" Deadpool picked the needle out of the pool of rubbing alcohol and dried it with a piece of gauze.

"Absolutely not."

"Well," the man said, getting down on his knees next to Peter's leg. "That's just too bad, cause I gotta get this done before you topple over on me."

Peter wanted to watch the process very badly just to make sure it was being done fairly correctly, but he just wasn't sure he had a strong enough stomach for that. It wasn't that he was bothered by needles, but watching himself get sewn up felt particularly morbid. He just couldn't do it. Instead, his eyes focused on his hand, sitting loosely on the table. He could feel the needle a little, but it was a very distant pinching.  
Of course Deadpool's talking was distracting in its own right. His talent in speaking at great length and ad nauseum about positively nothing was as impressive as his reputation would suggest. But when mixed with the brain static really good pain meds provided, it was almost comforting.

And Peter was too damn tired to care about how repulsive that should be.

 **Chapter 7**

By the time Deadpool finished and taped gauze over the stitches, Peter was just barely clinging to consciousness. He was eager to get away from the whole situation, though, so he stood up as quickly as possible. He needed to stop doing that. Vertigo hit him like a freight train, and he quickly fell back down on the chair.

Of course Deadpool laughed at him. Rude.

"C'mon, Spides," he said, circling his hands uncomfortably close to almost entirely around Peter's forearms to help him up. God, his hands felt massive. "Let's get you back to bed."

Peter didn't want to admit he needed the support of Deadpool's arm wrapped around his shoulders, leading him back to the bedroom. There wasn't much he could do about it, though, so he just leaned into the wall of muscle. Logically, he knew he could lift a bus and the other couldn't, but the super strength wasn't accompanied by super big muscles, so he felt puny and weak again. Just like in his high school days. And, wasn't that a terrifying thought?

"I'm not taking any more pills you give me after this..." he slurred, amazed he got it out without missing any syllables.

"That's fair," the man hummed. "I gave you my stuff, so it's pretty heavy duty."

"Your stuff...?"

"Sweetheart, normal pain meds are like sugar pills for me."

"Didn't think pain bothered you anymore."

"Pain bothers everyone. Just cause it's the new normal doesn't mean it sucks any less."

Peter bit his lower lip. This hadn't really occurred to him because Deadpool typically jumped into painful situations head first-often literally. He had no regard for anyone's safety, let alone his own. "Then why do you still do stupid stuff?"

"Ain't that one of life's great mysteries?"

Deadpool was apparently getting tired of twenty questions because he removed his arm from around Peter without warning, which had the effect of plopping him down on the bed when he tried to catch his balance. He scrabbled up to get his lower half onto the mattress and lay down. He didn't bother getting under the covers because he wanted to avoid moving his leg as much as possible. He was drugged, but it was still kinda sore, albeit in a distant way. When the pills wore off, it'd be worse, and he planned to stick to his announcement of no longer taking any pills his host gave him.

Apparently Deadpool had prepared for this because suddenly a light throw blanket was being tossed over him. He laughed to himself about how a throw was being thrown. It wasn't actually funny, but dear lord was he high enough to think so.

"Sleep it off, bug," Deadpool said, clearly amused.

"Arachnid."

"Oh my god. Whatever."

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a yawn.

When he closed his eyes, medicated sleep took over almost immediately.

Deadpool sat down in the chair next to the bed. He rested his head on his hand, which was in turn rested on his knee. He watched the rise and fall of breathing from underneath the blanket. He watched brown eyelashes flutter but not open.

He sat quietly, for hours, eventually curling in on himself in the little wooden chair.

He watched and waited with little movement as Peter shifted positions several times in his sleep.

Noises from outside filled the dark room in the absence of internal sound.

Engines. Honking. Tires on pavement. Sirens. Muffled shouts.

In the brief, second-long absences of that, crickets.

When the sun started to rise, causing long streaks of soft, early morning light to cascade through the window, Deadpool stood and carefully padded across the room.

The door closed with a gentle "click" behind him.

Peter's eyes snapped open, and he sucked in a shaking breath.

 **chapter 8**

Peter sat up and buried his face in his hands.

He'd been awake for about five unbelievably long minutes before Deadpool left the room. Before he had a chance to open his eyes, his spidey-sense buzzed, alerting him to the presence of another. Naturally, the only thing he could think to do was play possum. He didn't know how convincing his fake sleep act was, so part of him was paranoid that Deadpool knew he was awake for that long. But he wanted to avoid having to confront the whole 'watching him in my sleep thing' as much as possible. It was just one more addition to his list of worrying things about this entire situation.

It took a while, but he finally managed to convince himself to get out of bed. Thankfully, he was less stiff than he was the last time he woke up. There was the acute pain in his leg, but that was easier to deal with than excessive rib pain. While there were still a couple of broken ribs, they weren't as bad off and the bruising/swelling was reduced significantly. That made it easier to move around a bit.

He limped carefully out of the room. When he opened the door, the warm breakfast smells might as well have physically smacked him in the face. His stomach reacted immediately and growled excessively loud. It had been a while since he last ate, hadn't it?

Deadpool glanced back from in front of the stove. Upon confirming Peter was up, he turned up the radio. Suddenly Pat Benatar was blasting through the apartment. Peter how many noise complaints the man tended to get, if he had any neighbors. Thus far he hadn't seen any evidence that he wasn't in an otherwise empty, condemned building. That theory made sense, since he couldn't imagine barred windows were up to fire code (yes, he was still stuck on that—mostly because it limited his mode of escape).

He walked into the kitchen, morbidly curious about what Deadpool was cooking, or rather, mostly ignoring for the sake of a passionate (if off-key) rendition of Hit Me With Your Best Shot. Despite himself, he found a grin trying to spread across his face. Damn his sense of humor; it always popped up in the most inappropriate of times.

The radio got turned back down when the song ended and Jessie's Girl started, which he appreciated for several reasons.

"Are you cooking?"

"No, sweetheart, I'm trying to turn eggs into gold." He paused for a brief second before adding, "Or meth. Because they're so addictive." The offensively terrible joke was punctuated with a wink.

And, strangely, it was only in that moment that Peter realized that Deadpool wasn't wearing the mask for the first time since he woke up there. He wasn't wearing gloves either. He was just in a sweater and some pajama pants.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen Deadpool without his mask before, but he'd never seen him out of the entire costume. It was weird because it was normal and domestic and how the hell did he not notice it until just now?

Deadpool tilted his head, apparently noticing Peter was staring. Peter quickly looked back at the eggs.

"What? No pancakes?" he said lamely.

Deadpool put a hand over his chest, looking absolutely incredulous. "Pancakes, Spidey? Pancakes? Absolutely not! That is a cliche, and I'm not doing it! It's always pancakes! Every time. No. I'm making frittatas. Friiiiiittataaaa. Fun to say, easy to make."

Peter eyed him suspiciously. "You just like it because it's got 'tatas' in it."

"Almost everything is better with tatas, Spidey. Even me, as much as it pains me to admit it."

"Whatever, dude. I'm gonna go use your bathroom."

"Sure, baby. I'll have your plate ready for you when you're out." He made obnoxious kissing noises as Peter walked away, and in return Peter made an obnoxious noise of disgust that made him laugh.

It was strange how relaxed the man was without the mask. For the most part, he was pretty consistent in how careful he was not to show any skin. Yet, when he finally went without it, he wasn't on guard or antsy. He was just messing around—singing along to 80s pop music and making breakfast. Why did he have to act so generally threatening and then be so... normal and domestic. There was no wrapping his head around this truly strange human being.

Everything was made even more confusing when he came back into the kitchen. Deadpool was sitting at the table. The food was all set out like he said it would be. But, for some reason, he had put his mask back on, only to roll it just above his nose.

And in that instant all the tension Peter had released seemed to come crawling right back.

 **chapter 9**

"Why'd you put your mask on?" Peter asked bluntly.

"What? Miss my gorgeous visage?"

"Deadpool." He did his very best to give his voice a hard edge. It was always so much easier to do behind a mask, but it was important to build himself up without it, since he didn't have many options.

"Figured you wanted to talk business," Deadpool mumbled. His lop-sided grin was visible, but it was hard to tell how seriously he was taking this without seeing his eyes.

"What business?" Peter asked, surprisingly even. He placed his hands on the back of his chair but didn't move to sit in it. His own composure surprised him, but maybe he was all panicked out at this point.

"First," He punctuates this by holding up one finger. "You're not gonna trust me. I'm not stupid. No matter how much I assure you I'm not gonna do anything to cause you trouble, you won't believe it. You'll get your buddies involved, and that'll get in the way of my business."

Peter opened his mouth to say something really stupid, but Deadpool started speaking again before he got anything out.

"Second," A second finger went up. "You wanna know what my business there was, and maybe I'm inclined to tell you. But I gotta trust you, and my trust don't come easy either, you feel?"

Peter's grip tightened on the back of the chair. He stopped short of causing the wood to crack because he was considerate like that, but it would feel good to break something right about now. This conversation was making him antsy. "So what do you propose?"

"We need to reach an understanding." Deadpool started fiddling with a fork as he leaned back in his chair. Something about the ease of the pose felt sleazy. The atmosphere quickly slipped into a bad extortion scene in an old gangster film. It was ridiculous. It made Peter feel ridiculous, and that made him angrier.

"What? You're going to hold my identity over my head?"

"Kiddo, I don't know your face from the next college-age brat on the street. If I wanted to know who you were that bad, don't you think I'd know by now? Shit, tailing is more than half my job, and you're real goddamn sloppy."

Sloppy... He was sloppy... That was how he'd gotten into this mess in the first place, wasn't it?

"Take your mask off," he blurted out, surprising himself almost as much as his host.

"What?"

"You heard me. Take your mask off. You want me to trust you? Talking to me face to face will go a long way in that direction."

"Business talk means the mask is on."

"This isn't business. This is my life." Peter ground out, barely keeping his voice steady. The wood between his hands finally cracked just a little under the strain of his grip.

Deadpool cocked his head to the side slightly, clearly thinking about it. He wasn't grinning anymore. There was more of a terse frown. After a couple seconds he sighed and pulled the mask off.

"Better?"

"Yes."

The man motioned for him to sit and he did. Within a few seconds there was a very large helping of frittata on his plate. He picked up the fork and started moving the food around while looking pointedly at Deadpool.

"Look. I'm not exactly known for being a very trustworthy fellow. But maybe you'd feel better if I gave you some leverage. Something you can hold over my head. But I'm not a very trusting fellow either, so in exchange you give me your name."

"Everybody already knows your name, Wade Wilson," Peter grumbled.

Meanwhile, Deadpool had pulled his wallet out of his pocket—who carries their wallet in their pajama pants?-and was fishing around for something. He eventually found it and tossed it on the table in front of Peter, who reached over and picked it up. It was a school photo of a little girl with a wide grin that was missing several teeth.

"Is this supposed to mean something to me?"

"Give me a name, and you'll find out."

Peter pursed his lips and stared at the picture. There were several guesses he had for the story behind the picture, but there was a certain morbid curiosity to find out what was the right one. It seemed like something big, but he wouldn't put it past Deadpool to be tricking him to trade his identity for something meaningless or just out-right lie to him.

But, he did make a good point before. If he really wanted to know who he was, it wouldn't be that hard for him. And if this somehow tied into the gang's attack, he needed to know. Especially if the girl was somehow involved. He couldn't turn his back on that.

He closed his eyes and sucked in a terse breath.

"My name is Peter Parker," he almost whispered.

"Well, Pete," said Deadpool through a mouthful of frittata. "Meet Ellie Camacho. My daughter."

Peter dropped his fork, but he also managed not to choke on air, so that was a win in his book.

 **Chapter 10**

"I'm sorry," Peter said, utter disbelief dripping from his voice. "Clearly I'm suffering some side effects of whatever you gave me and am hallucinating. I thought I heard you say this is your daughter."

"You heard me right, pipsqueak. The paternity tests say it's true."

Deadpool calmly continued eating his eggs while Peter was screaming internally. Having a daughter did not at all fit in with his mental image of the man. He couldn't reconcile it with what he knew of him. Half the time Deadpool came off as an over-sized child himself. How do things like this happen? Certainly he seemed irresponsible enough to have a child by accident but not mature and responsible enough to be carrying around a picture of her but also keep her as a tightly held secret (unlike his personal identity).

"How?" was about all Peter got out between the racing thoughts.

"Well, Spidey, when two adults are locked in a pimp's game room and the odds aren't looking good, sometimes they use that as an excuse to release a little tension, if you catch my drift."

"Oh my god," Peter said, burying his face in his hands. "Please stop."

"Gonna have the mental image of me doing the nasty burned in your head forever." Deadpool said with a grin. He was clearly trying to make this worse.

"Stooop. No. I'm just trying to wrap my head around you being a parent and not letting it slip somehow."

Deadpool sat up straight and gave Peter the most insulted expression. He was so damn expressive without the mask muffling it. "I can keep secrets! I keep LOTS of secrets!"

Peter raised an eyebrow, and that only served to egg the man on.

"Hey! Don't give me that look! A lot of merc business is 'don't ask, don't tell' kinda junk. You gotta know how to keep your mouth shut about a lot of things. And you gotta know how to keep secrets to keep connections. Honor among thieves and what-not. Ya won't get far if you blabber about everything you hear. Loose lips sink ships, Spidey. Namely, your own. Ask Captain America about that one."

Peter closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. All this... mess could be mentally sorted out later. He needed to get back on topic.

"Yeah, okay, but what about what happened to me? Why were you just conveniently there when I got jumped?"

"Oh, yeah, that." The man slumped back in his chair. His mouth twisted in a curious expression as he looked off to the side. It was interesting to see him actually try to formulate how to say something instead of just blurting out what first popped into his head.

"See, the thing about that is... I can give you some details, but not a whole lot without permission to bring you into the fold."

"That's... I don't know if I want you bringing me up to anyone," Peter said with a heavy frown.

"Well... Yeah, but... I gotta explain why I blew my cover when I report in. I'm not gonna give a whole lot of details, but like... you know... mentioning you is kind of important? And I'm not sure I can explain why yet."

Peter's frown deepened.

"Deadpool. Wade. No," he implored. "I don't want to be brought into this with other people until I know the whole situation."

"That's gonna be a problem." The man sighed heavily. "You're gonna make this difficult. See, I can't bring you into the fold without my employer's permission, and you don't want me to tell my employer about you. I'm kinda in a bind here, man."

"Tell me what you can."

"Well, it's like this: local gang is under new management. Usually it's 'new boss, same as the old boss.' Not this time. Local gang goes from slinging coke to not dealing in drugs anymore. Instead they start picking on mutants hardcore. Then they start expanding and moving into different neighborhoods."

"I already know this."

"Well, my employer has deep pockets and isn't liking this new status quo. I've been doing surveillance on their movements for weeks now. Unfortunately, there's a little snag in that plan of operations."

"You blew your cover."

"Yeah, this ungrateful brat was getting beat up on pretty bad. Couldn't just leave him to that crowd."

Peter rolled his eyes. He stared at his food that was probably starting to grow cold. It was hard to have an appetite while he was trying to digest all of this information.

"I don't get why they were so pissed off at me if they just target mutants."

"Babe, you're the hero of the streets. You've interrupted so many beatings, I haven't had to blow my cover. It's a 'if you're with them, you're against us' kinda deal with those types."

Something about that made Peter feel a little better. It wasn't the fact that he had another group of people to look out for. It was more that what he was doing was making a real difference for some people. It actually wasn't that often that people appreciated his help, given how much the news ragged on him. Even the Avengers had a tendency to treat him as generally ineffective.

He had mixed feelings about getting the validation he needed from a mercenary, but, well, beggars can't be choosers.

 **Chapter 11**

"You know, breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Spidey," Deadpool announced, abruptly changing the subject. He gestured with his fork at Peter's plate of uneaten food. "You're a growing boy and you need your protein and veggies."

"Pleeease, stop doing that," Peter groaned. "I'm twenty-six. I don't need the baby talk. It's obnoxious."

"Well, I am known for being pretty damn obnoxious." This was said with a shit-eating grin. Peter glared back. "But for real, there's an easy way to get me to stop."

"You're going to annoy me into getting your way? Jeeze, 'Pool, how often does that work for you?" Peter pointed at him with his fork before adding, "Now who's the kid?"

"Still you."

In an incredibly mature move, Peter stuck out his tongue in response. Deadpool, instead of commenting, mirrored the action. It was alarming how easy their stupid banter clicked.

Finally deciding to bite the bullet, Peter took a big bite of (mildly pulverized from his bad table manners) frittata. It was... really good. Not amazing, but still delicious. The ingrediants were cheap-the vegetables had that certain texture that fresh veggies most certainly did not have. But it wasn't like he grew up with a lot of money. That texture made it more weirdly nostagic than anything.

Peter chewed and continued to consider the taste for a bit while Deadpool watched him, anticipation clear in eyes. There was a bit of a nervous fidget. He was like an excided puppy when he wasn't being genuinely terrifying.

"Weeeellll?" He finally prompted when he'd gotten enough of waiting.

It took considerable effort for Peter to contain a laugh, but he did it. "It's good."

"Just good?" he asked, looking a little disappointed.

"What do you want me to say? It's orgasmic? The sex of egg dishes?"

"Yes, absolutely." He blinked a few times as if this was the exact answer he wanted to hear, and it should have been completely obvious.

Peter wasn't able to hold in at least a little bit of a laugh if only because of the expression on Deadpool's face. He took a second to regain composure before speaking.

"I'm sorry, 'Pool. I have to dock points for presentation alone. This dish just doesn't wow me."

"Ugh, fuck cooking competitions. The judges dock points for presentation... Who the fuck caaaares? If the food tastes good, it tastes good. I mean, it all ends up getting digested anyway. Spend all this time making food look delicate and perfect and it's just gonna be ruined five seconds later. It's a technicality is what it is, Spidey. It's a nitpick. A whiner's complaint. What is even the deal with five-star restaurants anyway? Like, you have to go in a suit. They get suuuper pissy if you're not dressed to the nines. Then you gotta wait an extra thirty minutes so they can make your food look perfect. No, give me an ugly looking home-cooked meal any day over some snobby-ass waiter staring down his nose at me."

Sometime during this unexpected rant Peter managed to finish the giant helping Deadpool had given him. It was like as soon as he had taken one bite, he realized how hungry he was, so he kept shoveling giant fork-fulls into his mouth. He ate sloppily and without consistently making sure his mouth was closed. It wasn't like his host was paying much attention. Or maybe he was; it was hard to tell sometimes.

It took him a minute to realize that the rant was done. He took a long drink of the water sitting in front of him before making his own contribution to filling the silence.

"I think the general idea is to revel in opulance and make people that weren't taught the proper rules etiquette feel uncomfortable."

"Man, but I do love being the rude aye-eff neuveau riche asshole: too rich to throw out, too annoying to ignore."

Peter snorted. That little description painted a very vivid picture. He could imagine Deadpool going places, purposefully waiving his money around while being on his worst behavior just to see how long it took them to get fed up enough for the money not to matter.

He was pulled out of this imagined scenario when Deadpool spoke again.

"You should take it easy today," he had muttered fondly, almost shyly.

The sudden mood whiplash left Peter feeling a little dizzy.

 **Chapter 12**

"I plan on going home," Peter said firmly.

Deadpool tensed up a little and cocked his head to the side. "You plan on swinging out with broken ribs or walking down six flights of stairs with stitches you already ripped out once?"

"I need to go home," he said almost desperately, his throat going dry. This conversation was not going in the direction he wanted it to. He knew it wouldn't, but it still made him anxious and frustrated. "I've got things to do... A life to get back to."

"I'm pretty sure your 'things to do' would kinda be difficult with, you know, a punctured lung or two and and a major infection, give or take a pint of blood. I mean, it doesn't stop me for long, so if you wanna give it a go, be my guest. Let's see how well your baby healing factor fairs."

"That's not fair," Peter breathed. "I can't stay here."

"See, that's the beauty of it. You really can."

Suddenly the apartment felt too small. The bars in the windows felt all the more apparent.

It was like a cage.

"Deadpool, you can't make me stay. I'm leaving." He did his very best to make sure his voice came out firm and even, trying to bury his anxiety under a sheet of solid stubbornness.

Deadpool cocked his head to the other side. He gripped his mask that had been sitting on the table and stared at Peter for a long moment. Then, he put the mask back on.

And if that didn't get Peter's poor little heart racing...

"Are you seriously going to try to intimidate me into doing what you want?"

Deadpool went rigid for a moment.

Then, he stood up. He walked over to the counter and pulled out a drawer with more force than necessary. After a little rummaging, he brandished a large knife. Peter's spidey sense buzzed, getting more intense as the man walked back over and stood next to him.

Before Peter had much time to react, Deadpool thrust the knife into the table next to his plate. The blade sunk a few inches into the wood. It was a good thing his other hand was on the back of the chair to steady it because Peter jumped enough that it surely would have tipped over.

"What the hell?" he demanded, scrambling out of the chair to put some space between them. His leg protested with shooting pain.

"I'm losing patience, okay? I'm not a patient guy, and I've been really fucking patient your dumb shit so far. Is this what you want? Is this what you'll respond to? You want threats? Go back to bed or I'll go all Misery on your skinny ass. How's that for a threat?"

"Weren't you just talking about trust a minute ago? This is a pretty dumb way to try to create trust, Deadpool!"

"I said I don't expect you to trust me, and I don't. That's why we have leverage over each other. Go back to bed, Peter Parker, unless you want to take your chances and see if I'm bluffing."

Peter stared at Deadpool in disbelief. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths that hurt, but he couldn't afford to work himself into another panic attack. He was normally very fast. Maybe if he could block out the pain for a couple seconds, he could make it to the door...

But that was a crap-shoot, and it was true. He genuinely didn't trust Deadpool; he couldn't be the least bit sure that the Misery threat wasn't honest and literal. So, he started walking toward the bedroom, making sure that his host stayed in his line of sight until he could hide behind a shut door.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

 **Chapter 13**

After Peter retreated into the room, he sat down on the floor next to the bed, his back pressed up against the far wall. He drew his uninjured leg up to his chest, letting the other one stay straight since he had already just been straining it just a moment ago. He hugged the leg tightly and rested his cheek on his knee. For a while he just breathed. He felt incredibly disoriented, and he needed to get his head on straight if he was going to make some kind of plan.

So, today was a bust.

Deadpool had made it very clear that he won't budge, and Peter just wasn't well enough to fight. He didn't know whether or not this forced rest would be applied tomorrow, but by then he should be in better shape to at least outrun any attempts to keep him there. His ribs would still be tender and weak, though, so too much effort would be a problem. He'd have to strategize an escape.

He rested there for a little while until the position put too much pressure on his still healing ribs, so he crawled back into bed. He couldn't sleep, of course. Any noise from outside the room made him jump a little bit. The unfortunate side-effect from his spidey sense was that he was in a state of hypervigilance around danger, which was just not helpful at the moment since there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it.

After a little while, he got up and paced a little bit. He found out which boards creaked and how loudly. He very carefully tested them to see if he could easily make a path from the bed to the door without any creaking. It turned out he would be able to with a fair amount of hopping, so with however much he was healed the next day, he should be fine. Thankfully, (exempting injury) he was generally pretty light on his feet.

When he got bored with that, he put his ear up to the crack between the door and the jamb and listened for Deadpool. For a little while he got nothing but creaks of the floor and some tv noises. He was mentally debating on the pros and cons of just walking out there and admitting he needed something to do when he finally heard something interesting.

One of those default cell phone ringtones sounded off. Deadpool answered almost immediately.

It was hard to hear anything he was saying. Some parts were mumbled or muffled by other sounds, including (but not limited to) the tv. It sounded like the man was pacing, so some of it was closer in proximity to the door than other parts.

"-did you expect-?"

"No, he's-"

"-Weird thing is, I think it did. Just-"

"-not kidding."

"-up the wall. LIterally."

Peter's heart dropped. The discussion was definitely about him. Was that Deadpool's employer on the other line?

"Fuck, no. You can't just-"

"-of course I-"

"-here now-"

"Fine. 'Kay. What do you think I should do?"

He froze. It sounded like Deadpool was standing right in front of the door. It was probably severely paranoid, but he tried to keep his breathing as quiet as possible. Part of him was worried that his heart was beating too loudly and would give him away.

"That's pretty tough because he's kinda part of this now. And, I can't relay half the shit you need. He doesn't trust me." The last sentence was said in a kind of taunting singsong voice that gave Peter a shiver up his spine.

A pause followed.

"That's not helpful. I need you to tell me how much I'm allowed to tell him right now."

There was a much longer pause that must have lasted almost ten minutes in which Deadpool started tapping his foot impatiently.

"Is that the Word of God? Or are you still giving me shit?"

He could hear the sound of muffled speaking from over the phone, so apparently he was getting an earful.

"All right, sweetheart. Thanks for the message. See you soon! Kisses!"

A loud beep from the phone indicated the end of the call. Deadpool snickered before speaking again.

"Hear that Spidey? You're OFFICIALLY part of this now!" the man called through the door.

 **Chapter 14**

Deadpool knocked on the door, giving Peter enough time to scuttle backwards before he opened it. Peter, having no idea how to react, mostly just pressed himself back against the wall, instinctively standing on the balls of his feet should he need to jump away quickly. Not that jumping was a very good idea and would probably only work more toward inciting anger in his host than anything else.

Meanwhile, Deadpool calmly walked over to the bed and sat on it, facing Peter. He pulled his legs up to sit criss-cross and rested his hands on his ankles. That damn mask was still on, obscuring his expressions.

"I know you're mad at me, but we gotta have our little powwow while you're still here, 'kay?"

"I asked you not to mention me to anyone."

"Well, I didn't use your name. Just 'a mutate.' Thought it'd be a good compromise. Sticky fingers aren't exactly special enough to give you away. Sorry."

Peter let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He forced himself to stand with his feet fully on the ground, though he still kept himself against the wall. It'd take more than that to win him over after his display in the kitchen.

"Is it really all that important that I'm a mutate?"

"Yeah, pretty damn important actually. I can't tell you a whole lot until you meet with my employer, but there's this thing-"

"Woah, hold it. Back up. Meet with your employer?"

"Well, yeah." Deadpool said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "That's the nature of the game. The only thing you know about my employer is that they're in the business of mutant interests, and they got the cash to afford me. The only thing they know about you is that you're a mutate that was attacked by a mutual enemy. You see where this is going? Everyone's pretty fucking skittish. Figured it'd be best for you to meet on even ground."

"Was part of your contract to kill anyone?" Peter asked quickly. He hadn't spent a whole lot of time dwelling on this, but it and several other questions had been weighing on the back of his mind.

Deadpool stared at him for a moment before speaking. "Not in so many words."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, that I'm not contracted to specifically kill anyone, no." He shrugged and looked to the side, seeming a little uncomfortable. That was something in common with all their meetings. He always acted a bit shy and spoke vaguely when discussing the dirtier parts of his jobs. In all honesty, it was incredibly frustrating. "But, you know... If a mutant's getting got, I get the getter."

Peter sucked in a heavy breath. The implications of that statement hit him hard. "Did you…?" He swallowed thickly. "Did you get the getters before?"

"The ones that got you, you mean."

"Yes."

"No," Deadpool said firmly, his evasive demeanor quickly disappearing. "Didn't think you'd appreciate it much."

"Okay," Peter muttered, trying to calm himself down. "Okay, okay, okay. Okay."

"Chill, Beyoncé." There was more fondness than humor in Deadpool's voice, and that kind of surprised Peter given how much the man liked to tease him. "Take a deep breath, and ask what yer gonna ask. Just spit it out."

With that major anxiety lifted from his shoulders, Peter looked at him with a new determination. He still wished he could make proper eye contact with the man. There was a very large part of him that was still feeling very skittish, and it wasn't like it wasn't for good reason. Still, this was important. This wasn't just about him. There were already people that had gotten hurt, and he was in a position to help stop it.

If that meant jumping into a dangerous situation blindly, all right. It wasn't like he didn't already do that on pretty much a nightly basis anyway. And so what if he was being led into it by someone that more than mildly terrified him? He should really be an old hat at this by now.

Goddamn, his sense of responsibility was going to get him killed someday.

"What can you tell me about the situation?" he finally asked.

"Now we're in business!"

 **Chapter 15**

Deadpool patted the open space on the bed next to him, implying that Peter should take a seat. Peter simply shook his head in response. "You sure? This might be kinda long. I am known for being long winded, beating round the bush, and generally using ten words where two would do."

"I'm sure." Peter crossed his arms over his chest. It wasn't so much to do with stubborn refusal as it was in an unconscious movement dictated by his reptilian brain.

"You'll get all sore just standing there." There was an exaggerated pout in Deadpool's voice. Peter narrowed his eyes in response. His arms tightened over his chest, causing a little bit of extra pain.

Deadpool threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine, fine, fine." The man slipped off the bed and sat in the chair, crossing his legs again so that he was still sitting in the same position as before. "Is that better?"

Peter nodded. He crawled onto the bed, making sure that he was sitting as far as he could manage from his host. Once he settled down a little, he sunk down into the bed. It was soft foam that seemed to want to swallow him. He couldn't help but be a little jealous of the mattress. It couldn't have been cheap, and it was soft and comfortable. It occurred to him the moment he sat down that he was far more sore than he thought. Anxiety had a bad habit of hiding that.

"Comfy?" Deadpool asked, ruining the brief second of relaxation.

"Start talking, 'Pool. What can you tell me about what's happening?"

"All right, all right. Straight to business. No time for pleasantries. I get it." Deadpool started, causing Peter to roll his eyes. "Ooooh, man. This is going to be a doozy, my creepy crawly friend. There's a lot of weird shit and a lot we don't know. But if your questions go toward areas I can't answer, I'm just gonna say 'spumoni.'"

That caused Peter to raise an eyebrow. "Did you really just pick a safe word for a conversation?"

In return, Deadpool gave a sharp, unexpected laugh. "You know, that's not what I was thinking, but you're right. That's my safe word now. It's important to set those up right away, sweetheart."

With a practiced exhausted expression, Peter tried to get the conversation back on topic. "You said there was 'weird shit.' What's weird about it? So far it seems pretty straight forward."

"Oh! Yeah, see, this whole thing actually started a while before the attacks even started."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," His voice stressed the last word as he put a hand over his chest and leaned forward a little, as though offended at being interrupted. Peter had been doing a lot of it, but it wasn't as though he really had much right to get uppity about it. Pot, kettle, black. "That there were a lot of rumors coming out of M-town that had a lotta mutants worried. You see, it was going around that some people were going missing. Mostly homeless mutants. The kinda people that people don't really care about and wouldn't notice much. But it was still enough for people in that neighborhood to get kinda itchy about staying out alone after dark. Mutants outside of M-town got wind of it and were feeling a little itchy, too, but there was really fuck all they could do with rumors."

"Makes sense." This wasn't something Peter had heard anything about, but he wasn't actually around mutants very much. He certainly worked with them, but they had a tendency to be very insular, not that he blamed them. Just because someone would work with a mutant didn't mean they were safe, and he honestly didn't ask much anyway.

"Fast forward a couple of months. People were getting pretty paranoid, right? Scared of their own shadows. But it's not like police take rumors seriously, especially if muties are the ones getting hurt."

"Could you not use slurs so casually?"

"Why? You aren't a mutant." There was a certain hollowness to the statement. It was clearly a callback to what Peter said earlier.

He shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah, okay, I deserved that. But still…"

"I get it, baby boy. Gotta be a good ally and all that jazz. Not a mutant, shouldn't use mutant slurs. Anyyyway…" Deadpool rolled his hand and spoke out of the corner of his mouth as though telling himself to get on with it. It was a strange gesture. "It changed when they took the wrong person. It wasn't anyone high profile enough to get the cops or media interested, but a little girl went missing, and that little girl had a family. It was a big ass deal in mutant communities. Even the X-Dweebs got involved with the search party."

"If this was so low profile, how do you know about it?"

"Spumoni."

Peter rubbed his face with one hand, trying to figure out how to maybe rework the question so he could get an answer. Instead he ended up asking, "Was the girl ever found?"

Deadpool went rigid, and his voice came out particularly terse as he spoke. "No. There was nothing to go off. She was just gone."

"Oh." He could easily see how hard the man took it, and that made a lot of sense now that he knew Deadpool had a daughter himself. It's hard not to project those kinds of feelings. However, Peter was phenomenally terrible with feelings. He knew he should say something, but he couldn't figure out what, and it just made him feel incredibly awkward. He did the next best thing: changed the subject. "So when did this lead to the gang takeover or whatever?"

"Oh, yeah," Deadpool perked up immediately, taking the opportunity to mask his negative emotions as quickly possible. He didn't do well with that kind of vulnerability. "A few more people with families went missing, and everyone started to get reeeal mad about the radio silence from police and media. It was around the time someone was starting to organize a protest that the first beating happened."

"There was a beating at a protest?" He was really shocked he didn't hear about that one.

"Oh, there was no protest. That got canned when the potential protesters were all hospitalized."

Peter winced. Okay, so this was definitely getting into real life conspiracy business. There were way too many factors sliding together perfectly to create a pretty ugly puzzle.

"It was pretty much business as usual with mutant rights junk tee-bee-ayech. But that's when things got all beginning of a Twilight Zone episode."

"Oh really?"

"Yep." He popped the 'p' for effect. "Couple of 'em started showing weird symptoms. High fevers, seizures, mutations kinda shorting in and out. Hella weird to see. Oh, yeah, and sudden death. That was a thing."

 **Chapter 16**

That certainly got Peter's attention. He sat up more and pulled his legs in, subconsciously mimicking Deadpool's body language. It was amazing how often he forgot about the leg. He hissed at the little bit of pain, not for the first or last time that day. The injury was already more resilient to movement than it was that morning, though, thanks to what Deadpool had dubbed his "baby healing factor."

"So… What caused it?" he asked, his voice gaining a certain amount of energy from his interest. "Is there something injected or swallowed? Breathed in? Absorbed through the skin?"

"Autopsy didn't give much, mostly because the medical examiner was a regular." Regular was a kind of slang term for non-mutant. Peter didn't hear it very often, but he knew what it meant. "But," he continued "I think there's something that coats bullets, gloves, and pretty much anything used as a weapon. It makes the point of impact where skin is broken look all acid burned. It's some gnarly shit."

Peter cocked his head to the side. "You have access to autopsy photos?"

In response, Deadpool snorted. He scratched his cheek through the mask. "Yeah, I got access to the autopsy photos. It's what I was originally hired for."

"You stole the autopsy reports?" Peter didn't know why this surprised him, but somehow it did. He wondered how many clandestine operations sneaking into mortuaries Deadpool experienced in his career. The thought was a little amusing to him.

"Stole?" There came that dramatic offended look, complete with pearl clutching pose (though there were no actual pearls to clutch). God, the man was such a complete ham. "Please, Spidey. I am a professional. Stealing would bring attention to someone having interest in them, which is the last thing you want in this kinda situation."

"Oh," Peter mumbled, surprised at how much sense that made and how he hadn't thought of that. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Damn straight, I'm right." Deadpool stopped his overacting and went back into his more relaxed position. "Also, Ted and I are pretty good friends at this point, so he's cool with me snooping around in exchange for a good old fashioned Benjamin."

"You're friends with the medical examiner?"

"Pfft, yeah. Pretty much every medical examiner in this city knows me or knows of me. It's, like, at least once a month I'm stuffed in a body bag while my insides are still repairing. Not just this city, actually. This nice lady mortician in Chicago made me a cutesy medical bracelet saying 'I'm not really dead! Do not dissect!' I mean, I totally lost it, but it was great while I had it. Can't remember her name either..." He looked off to the upper right as if trying to recall the woman's name.

Meanwhile, Peter was trying to wrap his head around the implication that Deadpool had most likely been through at least a partial autopsy before. He couldn't help the horrified expression that formed on his face. No wonder why the dude was so completely morbid. Jesus.

"Hey," Deadpool said, lifting his mask very briefly just for the sake of sticking his tongue out at Peter. "Close your mouth. You're gonna catch flies. … Unless… Do you… Do you eat flies?"

Aaaaand there it was. Peter's face went from horrified to deadpanned in a quick couple of seconds. "You're not creative or funny."

"You just can't appreciate good spider related comedy. It's been spoiled for you. You're biased."

He really needed to start a tally for how many times he rolled his eyes that day. He might actually be breaking a record. Sighing, he rubbed his face, trying to get his brain back on topic. The subject of waking up during the middle of an autopsy was a nightmare for another day. "Okay, since you guys had access to an autopsy report, are there any theories on what exactly the chemical compound is doing to affect mutants?"

Deadpool opened his mouth to talk, but a sudden realization hit Peter in the seconds after ending his question. He immediately voiced it, cutting Deadpool off. "Oh my god! That's why it's important that I'm a mutate!"

Leaning far back in the chair, Deadpool stared at him with a mixture of surprise, confusion, and insult for being interrupted before he even got the chance to utter a syllable. The fact that all of this was visible with just body language and a few creases in the mask was kind of amazing, actually, but Peter was too wrapped up in things starting to piece together to properly appreciate it. Which was also offensive, for the record.

"Yes," Deadpool said, not moving so that he could continue to convey his generally affronted reaction. "That's what I was trying to tell you."

"So, I definitely got whammied, but it didn't affect me, so it's got something to do with the x-gene specifically? That makes sense but, it's pretty advanced for a street gang to get its hands on." Peter was way too excited about this, and Deadpool was trying to make it very clear with his body language that it weirded him out.

"Woaahh. Chill out, nerdling. Relax." It was Peter's turn to stick out his tongue in a childish gesture. Deadpool actually had to roll his whole head to convey that he was rolling his eyes, which Peter found to be kind of hilarious and stupid. It could be avoided completely if he would just take the thing off. "Here's the thing, Spider-Nerd. You got a small burn around your wounds. It healed before you woke up, but you were burning up for a while there, too. Took a while and a lot of ice to get your temp down."

Peter's shoulders slumped. Okay, so he was affected by it most likely, just not to the extent that mutants were. That certainly explained why he couldn't manage to dodge the bullet before, but it also blew his burgeoning theories out of the water. He chewed his bottom lip while he tried to think about what it meant.

"Wade?" he asked suddenly, his voice thin with concern.

"Yes, sweetums?"

"How long was I out for?"

Deadpool did that squirming thing he did when he didn't want to answer something, and that made Peter's heart drop. Up until now he assumed it'd just been a few hours. He could only remember bits and pieces of coming in and out of consciousness, but it wasn't nearly enough for it to have taken that much time. Then again, he didn't remember any ice.

"Wade," he said with more force this time.

"Probably like two days?" Deadpool offered with an uncomfortable shrug. He knew Peter wasn't going to like the answer very much.

Well, he wasn't wrong.

 **Chapter 17**

"What do you mean I was out for two days?" Peter demanded. "What were you thinking? I could have died from dehydration alone! When were you going to take me to a hospital?"

"Relax," came Deadpool's response. From the tone of his voice, he seemed to think it was no big deal, but his refusal to even look in Peter's general direction was not comforting. "You weren't out-out the whole time, you know? Spent the first day and a half going in and out, all delirious and shit."

"But I don't remember any of it." That part disturbed Peter the most. He stared down at his hands. The concept of being awake and doing things and not remembering them was particularly terrifying. Losing a couple of days, even a couple of days where he was sick and not fully cognizant of his surroundings, was no small thing.

Deadpool looked at Peter with strange, almost child-like body language before giving a big shoulder-rolling shrug. He settled back into a more confident pose. "So, you had some kinda unknown drug in your system without knowing it was there. Least you know you were here sweating it out instead of having a big blank space in your calendar and no explanation. And, hey. It's just me that knows your face instead of a whole hospital staff. And you got to skip the catheter. I'd call this a Best Case Scenario, if I ever did see one."

Peter winced at the mention of a catheter. Yeah, okay, that was definitely a plus. He'd never actually needed on before, but the idea of them skeeved him out to no end. At least that was one bullet he managed to dodge. Still, the whole thing unsettled him. He didn't like it one bit.

"Is memory loss a normal symptom of this poison?" he asked before chewing on his lower lip in thought. He could think of a few compounds associated with memory loss off the top of his head, but it was by no means a complete list.

"Beats me. No one else that's come in contact with it has lived." The fact that Deadpool could say this so calmly while examining his fingernails was incredibly infuriating. He was so casual with the discussion of other people's lives being lost.

"Are there any guesses as to what might be causing this, then?" Peter's voice raised as his frustration bubbled under the surface.

"I dunno." Another shrug. This one was more careless-more of a half shrug expending as little energy as possible. "I tend to tune out when the pseudo-science guessing games start up. Need me to get it out of someone? Fine, I'll memorize it for ya. Even translate it from Bloody Gurgle. But I wasn't hired for some guessing game bullshit. Not my area of expertise, and I don't really give a flying fuck as long as someone figures out a way to stop it."

"You do realize that the guessing game is how people figure out how to stop it, right?" The frustration was reaching a real proper boil. The dismissal of the process reminded Peter of that meathead mentality of people that dismissed theoretical science but reaped the benefits of all the work produced from it. That was where his own passion lied, after all. He gripped the blanket tightly in his fists.

"Yeah, duh. No shit. Of course. But I'm not a part of that process, and I don't wanna be. I've had enough pseudo-science guess work thrown at me over the years. The only explanation I need is 'is this going to hurt' and 'is there a way to fix it.' I don't need the ifs, ands, hows, and whys. I'm hired muscle. You can be the brains of the operation if you want, baby, it's all yours. I want no part in it."

Deadpool had moved from examining his fingernails to picking loose skin from the sores on his fingers and flicking it on the ground. He kept that disinterested lilt to his voice and tilt to his head. But, his hands shook a little as the tell to his game face.

The reaction to this sight was instantaneous. It was like the heat was taken off Peter's mood. He felt the tension disperse from his muscles. His shoulders hung loosely as he stared at that tall, heavily-muscled man picking at his fingers like a nervous kid with eczema.

Is this going to hurt?

That felt very specifically worded, and Peter didn't know what to make of it. It occurred to him once again that he knew jack shit about the man sitting in front of him. Up until yesterday he wouldn't have thought that the question would mean very little, if anything, to him. This little window into the world of Wade Wilson felt strange. Wrong, even. Like everything had shifted a few inches to the left, and he was the only one that could tell.

"All right," Peter mumbled. "I guess I can get filled in on the running theories when I meet your employer."

"Probably for the best. I know fuck all about sciencey shit anyway."

 **Chapter 18**

Peter stared at Deadpool for a long moment. The fidgeting got worse under his unwavering gaze, and he felt on some level that he shouldn't care since the man did a whole lot to make him uncomfortable just that day, but he kind of did care.

From what he could tell, there was very little about Deadpool that wasn't self destructive, from his bad decision making to his nervous habits. It was hard not to wonder about the time before he had a healing factor, and if he was this self destructive even then. If he picked his fingers til they bled when he was uncomfortable. If he threw himself in the way of things that could potentially kill him on missions. If he pulled stunts that should break every damn bone in his body without so much as a moment's hesitation.

Plenty of people were like that and just slid by on a seemingly endless well of dumb luck. It seemed something so completely inherent to his personality but his personality felt so slippery at the best of times. Every moment he felt he had a grasp on it, it slid through the cracks between his fingers like a fine sand.

"Well, anyway, it'll prooobably be a few days til they can organize a meetup. They're kinda anxious about it but they gotta make sure it's secure and all that jazz." He kept picking. It wasn't so bad at first. A little bit of blood didn't pool enough to drip. It just stayed stationary, a little red pinpoint hidden in the midst of sores. He kept talking and looking at Peter, though, so his attention didn't move from finger to finger like before. He kept pinching and scratching and pulling that one spot. "'Sides, it'll give you some time to rest up. It's best to go into these things ready to go if things head south. I mean, my employer ain't gonna turn on us or nothin', but there's a lotta stuff you can't account for. Gotta be on your toes. Apparently literally. Is that a thing you do? Like, usually? You were all like a cat on your tippy-toes before. Are you part jumping spider? That'd be pretty freaking cool. Those are badass."

Deadpool kept blathering, seemingly unaware of the blood starting to spread under his absentminded fidgeting. Peter didn't like it. He didn't like seeing it. Something about it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It wasn't self harm with intent behind it. Instead, it seemed accidental in nature-as easy as scratching a bug bit til it bled. Which somehow didn't make it any better.

Eventually Peter reached over and grabbed Deadpool's hands tightly in one hand to keep them from moving. The man stiffened under his touch, and tried to pull away on instinct. Peter didn't let go.

"Stop it," he said in a short, rigid tone.

That had Deadpool floundering for words. Peter could tell because he could see his jaw open and closed several times before finally settling on something. "I don't get you."

Well, he in turn certainly threw Peter through a loop. "For real? You're saying that to me?"

"Yeah, I'm saying it to you. What's your deal, Spider-Twerp? One second you're shaking in your drawers, refusing to get within a couple feet of me. Then the next you're bossing me around and going all spider strength on me."

Peter winced, and loosened his grip on Deadpool's hands. He hadn't realized he'd been holding on quite so tightly, to be entirely honest.

"Yeah, what about you? You act all friendly one minute, then you put on your mask and start trying to intimidate me. Yeah, you freaked me out, because you stuck a knife in your own kitchen table, dude. But I'm not about to let you bully me through this whole thing. I'm involved now, right? So we're doing this on equal footing or not at all. And excuse me for not wanting to watch you make yourself bleed, asshole."

"Awww, I didn't know you cared. You know, if you wanted to hold hands so bad, baby, you could have just asked."

"Well, you did make me breakfast."

"Oh, shit! Technically I penetrated you last night! With my needle. I promise, sweetheart, the real deal is a lot thicker."

Using his free hand, Peter smacked his face into his palm. This wasn't the direction he expected this conversation to go. And yet, it really should have been. He should have known neither of them could stick to a real discussion for more than a few consecutive seconds. He looked back at Deadpool, narrowing his eyes. "Sorry, sweetheart," he muttered, voice heavy with sarcasm. "No making promises about your dick while that thing's still on." He released the man's hands to reach up toward the bottom of the mask.

And, Deadpool caught his wrist, squeezing tightly.

He wasn't going to lift the thing off. Not really, anyway. He just wanted to make a point, but his host didn't seem particularly fond of how far he pushed it. Fair enough. He could be a pusher.

"Don't," Deadpool said in that gruff voice that showed he meant business (as opposed to the playful gruff voice before-jesus, he was getting used to differences in rasps). "It's my decision when the mask goes on and off, got it?Leave it."

"Got it. I guess." Peter was quiet for a couple seconds, and then words started coming from his mouth so detached from the rational part of his brain that it was like an out of body experience. "Actually, I don't get it. You didn't feel the need to hide from me this morning. Why now?"

Deadpool's grip on his wrist loosened into something a little more fond and familiar. "Not hiding, baby boy. It ain't about that."

"What is it about then?"

Completely ignoring the question, Deadpool let go of Peter's wrist and held up his previously injured hand. As one could predict, the only thing left of his scratching was a little bit of drying blood. "Look. See? It's already gone."

Peter narrowed his eyes. It was, indeed, gone, but that wasn't what held his attention. When he looked closely it seemed as though patterns of sores and scars were transposed ever so slightly from their previous position. Curious, he grabbed Deadpool's hand and studied it closely. He found that if he stared long enough, he could see small movement in mostly fixed spots. The patterns mimicked each other. It wasn't so much that they were moving but healing and reopening slowly. It created an optical illusion of positional movement.

Huh.

"Weird," Peter said out loud.

"Aww, shucks, honey bunches, you know just what to say to a guy," Deadpool crooned.

And, yeah, okay, Peter laughed at that. Probably way more than was warranted.

 **Chapter 19**

The next day, the first thing Peter did was demand to take a shower and get a new pair of clothes. Admittedly he wasn't the cleanest person in the world, but now that he was feeling a little more comfortable, the funk was beginning to get to him. After his announcement of hygiene needs, he got a black hoodie and grey sweatpants tossed at him, as well as an unbelievably soft towel. He could hear the volume on the TV go up obnoxiously high after closing and locking the bathroom door.

With some reluctance, he started to undress, assessing the state of his body as he did so. There was some minor bruising still on his chest, but it was light and yellow instead of deep purples and reds. The area was still a sensitive to the touch, though, so he didn't want to push his luck too much. Bones knitting back took longer than a few bruises clearing up. The area around his stitches was still a little red. He glared at it, as though that would somehow make his frustration with that part of his own body known. His head didn't hurt nearly as bad, and he wasn't getting dizzy with quick movements anymore, so he took that as a good sign.

After taking stock of everything, he turned on the shower, making sure to adjust the temperature before stepping in.

The shower experience was awkward to say the least. There were a couple of soap choices, and it took him stupidly long to piece together why there wasn't any shampoo. Trying to decide which soap to use was also weirdly anxiety provoking. Then, in a sad attempt to keep his stitches out of the direct spray, he almost slipped and fell on his ass multiple times. Luck and spider-like reflexes were on his side that day in saving his neck, but they still didn't save his pride.

Probably the most awkward part of the whole ordeal was the voice in the back of his head bringing up the fact that he could totally get away with rubbing one out. Between the water spray and way too loud documentary on jellyfish going on in the other room, it was very unlikely he'd be heard. Truth be told, he wasn't really in the mood or anything; he certainly wasn't hard. It was just that he was acutely aware that it had been a while since he'd touched his dick. However, jacking off in Deadpool's shower was not an experience he was quite ready to take ownership of. So, aside from in the context of basic cleaning needs, his dick remained untouched.

The closest he came to injuring himself by almost falling was during his attempt to dry himself off while still standing in the tub. This was, admittedly, not his brightest idea. Frankly, it was a small miracle that he didn't pull out any stitches in his less than graceful save. He did manage to smack his leg against the faucet, though, and he knew that would probably bruise.

On the bright side, he managed to get dressed without any further almost injury to himself.

When he finally left the bathroom, leaving the old clothes in a pile on the floor because he wasn't sure what to do with them, he was greeted by the sight of Deadpool sitting on the floor, wrapped tightly in a comforter and surrounded by a little blanket nest. His back was up against the couch and his arms stuck out of the blanket so he could eat cereal from an alarmingly big cleaned out cottage cheese tub with a plastic serving spoon. Most importantly, at least as far as Peter was concerned, his mask was off.

"The water pressure in your shower is insane," Peter grumbled, making his presence known. Deadpool looked over at him in surprise, the giant spoon hanging from his mouth, before turning down the volume on the tv til it was more or less just a hum of white noise.

"I've been trying to work on that," he said apologetically. "I constantly fear for the safety of my nipples."

"Do your nipples ever just fall off?"

"Okay, wow, rude!" The man flailed carelessly, very nearly creating a spray of milk and cereal. "You can't just ask a guy about the integrity of his nipples!"

"I can, and I did."

"Well just for that," Deadpool pointed at him with the serving spoon, not caring about the drops of milk got on his blanket. "You don't get any of my Fruity Pebbles."

"I'm so wounded," Peter said in the most deadpan voice he could manage. The healing process and trying not to fall in the shower took more out of him than he thought. He sat down on the couch, his legs resting about half an inch away from Deadpool. His head tipped back and rested on the back of the couch, where he got a nice view of the stained and cracked ceiling. To think, just a couple days ago he wanted to take a nap up there. Disgusting. "Learn anything interesting about jellyfish?"

"Yeah, they can shoot off clones of themselves randomly. So basically they're you. Jellyfish-Man."

Instead of dignifying that with a response, Peter put his foot in Deadpool's face. It would be much more effective if this wasn't happening right after he came out of the shower, but he had to work with what he had.

Deadpool pushed it away, laughing in that stupid raspy laugh of his. "Ew. Spider-foot. Squish it."

"No, thanks. I need that foot, thank you very much." Peter tried to suppress a shudder. The nonchalant phrasing reminded him a little too much of the Misery threat. "Aren't there some jellyfish that can live forever? If anything, you're Jellyfish-Man."

Deadpool went on to insist that if that made anyone Jellyfish-Man, it'd be Cable because they lived forever by reverting to a younger state and shooting off more clones. Since Peter knew nothing about the man other than the fact that he existed, he had to concede to the expert on the subject. After that was settled, the fight then moved on to whether or not he would actually be getting any Fruity Pebbles.

 **Chapter 20**

So that day bled into the next. Peter felt considerably better. He was able to lift his arms above shoulder level without feeling as though death was coming swiftly. That was certainly a bonus. His leg was also almost ready to have the stitches removed. Double bonus.

Meanwhile, on the social front, the two managed to go a whole day without things getting too tense between them. Deadpool seemed to avoid the massive attitude shifts after Peter resigned to waiting until he was mostly healed up before leaving. It also gave Peter an opportunity to observe the man a little closer and get more of a feel of what he's like.

During his time there, up until the day before, he'd been either a little too out of it or too preoccupied with more important things to pay much attention to his host's sleeping patterns. If the previous night was an example of the norm, it seemed the man didn't sleep much at all. You see, Peter had stayed up late enough, frankly, for to be considered weird, with his ear pressed to the bedroom door. He listened to the channels on the tv change interspersed with Deadpool's gruff voice giving commentary to no one in particular. Once or twice he almost fell asleep right there on the floor, which would have been very difficult to explain in the morning.

Eventually, he gave in and crawled quietly into bed, following the pattern he had previously mapped out to avoid any floorboard creaks. When he woke up with the sunrise the next morning, Deadpool was already set to work making breakfast with his mask on. This time breakfast was egg in a basket. Either he had something for egg dishes or he kept making them because they were easy dishes to make.

"Goooood morning, sleepy head!" Deadpool greeted, barely looking up from what he was doing. Instead of the radio, this time his ipod was hooked up to a portable speaker. A song Peter vaguely remembered as being by TLC was playing.

"Who even still has ipods anymore?" he grumbled in response. His exhaustion was his own fault, but that fact didn't make him any less grumpy with the existence of mornings.

"Obviously it holds all my music."

"Isn't that what phones are for?"

"Apparently there's a limit on how much space you can take up on your phone, which is complete bullshit, by the way. And I know you're about to say 'But DP! What about cloud services?' Well, my arthropodal friend, I end up in a lotta places where you can't access data, and it's boring as shit."

"I guess that makes sense." Honestly, Peter had a hard time imagining being in an area where data wasn't accessible, but he also almost never left NYC. That had a massive effect on how he viewed the world.

He ran a hand through his hair while he yawned loudly. Staying up was a mistake.

"I'm thirsty," he announced, continuing to be the epitome of a polite guest.

"Water bottles are in the fridge. Don't wanna test your immune system against the city water, especially in this area."

"Tell me about it," Peter grumbled, thinking about the state of the water in his apartment. To be fair, it eventually got (relatively) fixed, but when he first moved in, the water was unambiguously brown. Ah, city life. Sometimes it is, in fact, a movie cliche.

He padded over to the fridge and opened the door. What caught his eye was the fact that the first shelf was filled with several rows of egg cartons piled on top of each other. He raised an eyebrow, looked at Deadpool, and then looked back at the massive stock of eggs. It was like looking in the refrigerators at the grocery store.

Sadly, Deadpool missed his reaction.

"Uhhh, 'Pool?" he asked after clearing his throat unnecessarily. "Expecting a sudden egg shortage? A natural disaster? Aliens are stealing our eggs?"

Deadpool waved the spatula at him. "Aliens stealing our eggs is no laughing matter. I saw a documentary about a lady that got abducted and had her eggs stolen. Scary shit, man." He gave an over exaggerated shudder.

"I'm pretty sure daytime talk shows aren't documentaries."

"Uh, excuse you, it was on the channel formerly known as History. Obviously everything on there has to be real."

"Uh...huh…" Peter's eyebrow had yet to become unraised. He motioned at the open fridge. "That still doesn't answer my question."

"Oh, yeah, that." The man's mask scrunched up in a way that made it look like he was pouting. "I may have… forgotten I already bought eggs, like… Six times? Sixteen times? I have no idea. I just had it stuck in my head that I was out of eggs for a few weeks."

"Yeesh," Peter muttered under his breath, reaching down to the second shelf to grab a water bottle. The fridge as pretty barren aside from the eggs and water. It had a lot of the basic condiments in there, but there were also three opened jars of queso and no ketchup. "Looks like you need to start making lists."

"Please, Spidey. Lists are for the weak and predictable. Opening my fridge is an experience. You never know what you're gonna get!"

"I don't know if that's a good thing." Peter closed the door and scrunched up his nose at the thought. "Don't you leave the country a lot? I bet you come back to a whole ecosystem growing in there."

"Hey, I thought you liked science experiments." Deadpool used his free hand to pull up his mask up enough to stick out his tongue briefly before tugging the fabric back down over his chin. The quick glance at his skin showed that it was particularly red and irritated today, maybe even cracked and bleeding. Peter couldn't fault him for feeling more comfortable with the mask on, and that made him feel a little more at ease about it.

"I'm more of a technological advancement guy. Decomposing food isn't in my repertoire."

"Oooo, repertoire. Good word. I'd rep your toire."

"I don't think that makes sense in any language." He had the overwhelming urge to throw something at the man, but the only thing in his hand was a full bottle of water, and he wasn't sure how well that would go over.

"It makes perfect sense," Deadpool insisted, plopping down a piece of bread for a fifth egg in a basket.

"It does not," Peter whined, distressed by the lack of anything non-threatening enough to throw at him.

He couldn't stop thinking about all those eggs.

 **Chapter 21**

Because he was feeling a little better, Peter started getting antsy. He wanted to leave as soon as possible, but when looking at it with a more level head, he knew it was a better idea to wait til tomorrow. It was iffy how far he'd get with the stitches, and he had no idea how far away from home he currently was, so there was no telling how much strain his ribs would be put under.

Deadpool, on the other hand, was busy boiling a good amount of the eggs in a giant pot and debating loudly with himself about whether he should give some to his neighbors or instead go egging the houses of people he had petty grudges on. Peter couldn't help but feel like that was a microcosm of the man's personality as a whole; he could help people just as easily as he could be a complete asshole. Some part of him realized that this probably applied to him, too, but he liked to think he was more likely to do good in most situations than the mercenary in front of him.

While his host cooked, Peter went channel surfing. It was no surprise that Deadpool had what was certainly the beefiest cable package that money could buy with far too many channels for one person to even try to pick from. How else could he drop pop culture references as easily as he breathed?

With each channel, Deadpool made commentary, and Peter couldn't help but respond.

When Pawn Stars was on, Deadpool commented on a box looking possessed, and they swapped stories on weird possessed items they'd come across on their individual adventures.

When Law and Order was on, Deadpool made fun of the actors viciously while sliding in a comment or two about the justice system, hidden beneath all those personal insults of course. Peter had a hard time appreciating them while distracted by eyebrow jokes.

Chicago was playing on one of those premium channels he never in his life had access to in the comfort of his own home. Deadpool decided to sing and dance along with every song because of course he had the whole thing memorized. Why wouldn't he? Peter almost cried laughing at the amount of times he almost fell down because dancing on a hardwood floor in socks was always an all around terrible idea.

But then, Deadpool got a call. And the mood in the apartment shifted entirely.

Peter muted the TV and watched as the man paced back and forth as he spoke.

"Hello?"

His voice seemed to drop an octave with the potential "business" call. It fit more naturally with the roughness in his throat; when he tried to talk in higher tones his voice was prone to crack and sound painful. Nevertheless, the change in tone still made the hairs on the back of Peter's neck stand on end.

"Who wants to know?"

A pause too long for Peter's liking followed.

"How many zeroes are we looking at?"

Shit. It was a new contact, and that really made Peter uncomfortable. He felt like he was witnessing a crime in process and had no idea how to react. He wasn't Spider-Man right now. He didn't have his webshooters. No mask to hide his fear. His body still injured. What was he supposed to do?

Unexpected yelling started up from the other side of a wall, ripping him from his intense focus on the situation at hand. So apparently Deadpool wasn't the only one with a noise problem…

Speaking of the devil himself, the man seemed utterly oblivious to the apparent altercation. He kept pacing and negotiating the details of... something. Peter couldn't tell if it was a hit or not, and the shouting from the next apartment kept getting louder. Eventually he could tell it was a man and a woman, but he still couldn't make out the words.

Evidently Deadpool reached his limit in ignoring the noise. He mumbled a "Hold on a moment," before pounding on the wall with his fist as hard as he could without putting it through the drywall. "Shut the fuck up, assholes, or we'll get to know each other REAL well!" His response to the neighbors was loud and sudden enough that Peter instinctively jumped to his feet, as though getting ready to be attacked.

The noise immediately lowered to a more reasonable mild irritation instead of a domestic violence call waiting to happen. Deadpool did his best to get off the phone as quickly as possible.

Peter stood there, his fingers curling and uncurling quickly as he tried to process everything that just happened.

 **Chapter 22**

Peter didn't realize he'd been standing there, staring, for an uncomfortable amount of time until Deadpool waved his hand in front of his face.

"You okay, there, Spidey?"

He grabbed Deadpool's wrist to still the hand's movement. His fingers seemed to squeeze a little too tight of their own accord. Everything felt so far out of his control that even his body wasn't waiting for direction. If there was anything that messed him up the most, it was feeling out of control of a situation… of himself… It all seemed to be piling up so fast.

"What was that?" He squeezed a little tighter when Deadpool tried to flex his fingers. They curled into a fist in response. The man's shoulders tensed a little bit, readying for a potential altercation. In Peter's mind, that was the first sign of aggression, as though his own actions weren't.

"What was what? The Johnsons next door were getting a little too loud. Wouldn't want them waking up Junior, would we?"

"What?" Peter blinked a couple of times, and let go of Deadpool's wrist mostly so that he could gesticulate wildly. "Not that! The call!"

"Sorry, sweetie-pie. Didn't know taking work calls during 'us time' would piss you off so much." The pet name that usually fell so easily from his lips was forced out like a pejorative. Irritable sarcasm fit him a little too well. It was a well-worn tool of the trade. "I'll silence my phone if it'll make you feel a little better, sugar-bee, but I might miss something important."

"Did you really just accept a job right in front of me? Did you really think I'd be okay with that?" Peter ran a hand through his hair, his eyes wide and darting around the room. Part of him just wanted punch the man out just to get him to shut up. He was very talented at saying just the right thing to make everything worse.

"I didn't accept it. I said I'd consider it. And I'm pretty sure it's none of your goddamn business what I do and don't accept, so sit your pretty ass down and keep your nose where it belongs."

"Ooo. Trying to intimidate me again. Real original speech there, Deadpool." Once again, his fingers furled and unfurled with an uncomfortable energy that he didn't know how to release. Maybe he was just trying to start a fight at this point. It would feel good to have that kind of release after everything that had been building up. "It is my business if people are going to get hurt because of it."

"Awww, Webs," Deadpool cooed. For an added layer of condescension, he bent forward slightly so that they'd be on eye level. "You're doing a cute little hero speech thing, even though you're all banged up still. Sittin' on the couch, watchin' TV with a known killer. But we're good. That's all chill. Then you get all sore when a job for said known killer comes up while you're in the room. Puffin' yourself up like an angry bird even though we all know you'd be dead if it hadn't been for a job I took. You're adorable, Spider-Babe. Really. Hypocrisy looks so good on you." He reached over and ruffled Peter's hair.

Peter grabbed his wrist with a purposefully tight grip. "Stop it." The words came out from between gritted teeth.

"Stop what? What're you gonna do, kiddo? You let yourself get bullied into being a good little boy so far. Maybe without the mask, you're less a hero of the streets and more just a scared kid."

And that was just the right thing to say to flip some kind of switch in Peter. He was frustrated, tired, and not emotionally prepared for this kind of bullshit tirade. So, he did the first thing instinct told him to do. He grabbed Deadpool's forearm with his free hand and easily flipped him over with the intention of making him land hard on his back.

Two things happened to upset this. One, Deadpool was caught off guard. In most fights he'd be able to adjust quickly so that he'd land safely. For whatever reason, he didn't react quickly enough.

Two, Peter wasn't thinking about the size of the room. There wasn't actually enough room for him to land entirely on the floor. The whole thing was made worse by the fact that he wasn't thinking about the force in which he threw him down.

Everything happened in the fastest second Peter had ever experienced in his life.

Deadpool's lower body hit the couch, while the upper half of his body continued to be slammed into the floor. Specifically, it caused his head to land at an awful angle.

A familiar sickening crack echoed throughout the room.

Deadpool's body slumped down so that he was fully on the floor, where it remained, motionless.

Peter jumped back and buried his fingers in his hair. His breaths came in quick, shallow puffs. Suddenly all his frustration was converted to a deep, bone chilling panic.

 **Chapter 23**

The whole room seemed utterly devoid of noise for a long time. After getting himself to stop hyperventilating, a heavy numbness settled over Peter. He couldn't stop looking at the corpse and wondering how long it would take for it to reanimate. He was frozen, stuck in that oppressive silence.

The next noise he registered hearing was the eggs overboiling. He could hear the water hissing as it was rapidly converted to steam. The shock of that seemed to pull him back into the world around him. He jumped and rushed over to the stove, quickly shutting off the burner. He found Deadpool's oven mitts and slipped them on. Carefully, he moved the enormous pot to a cool burner.

After that, he went to the bathroom to get a towel, which he used to clean up the water that managed to spill over the stovetop and onto the floor. He folded the towel neatly and placed it over the handle on the oven door.

Peter needed to take a minute to mentally prepare himself before going back over by Deadpool. He muttered things under his breath like "you can do this, Parker" and "it's just a temporary thing for him anyway." That didn't really do anything to make him feel any better, but he knew he had to bite the bullet, so to speak, and just get it over with.

He walked back over to the corpse with slow unease. A considerable amount of effort had to be put into not holding his breath, but somehow he managed to keep breathing.

Deadpool, on the other hand, still wasn't breathing yet.

When this seemed to continue for a while, Peter thought that maybe it was because of the angle he was still in. That couldn't be conducive to healing. Maybe his neck needed to be straightened so that he could heal properly.

So, with very little effort, Peter picked up Deadpool's literally dead weight and placed him on the couch. Making sure that the neck was straight was admittedly disgusting. He could hear little clicks of bones rubbing against each other. He did all that he could do to try to put the man in a comfortable position, and then he sat down in the recliner on the other side of the couch.

He stayed very still, on the edge of his seat. He watched for any sign of movement, of air filling the chest cavity so devoid of life.

But nothing happened.

How long was this supposed to take? When he thought of it, he was sure that he had seen Deadpool bounce back faster than this in the heat of battle. Was something going wrong? It would be just his luck that the time it was his fault would be the time that Deadpool died for good.

He was just starting to feel panic seeping back in, when the body convulsed with a sharp, desperate inhale. Deadpool's fingers clawed at his mask, tugging the fabric off violently so that it would stop restricting his air supply.

Peter jumped at the sudden movement, his heart beating rapidly. He couldn't help it. He felt a nervous giggle escape his lips. Fuck, his head hurt, but he had never before felt more relieved.


	2. POOLSPIDER

**POOLSPIDER**

 **CHAPTERS**

It was a calm night, nothing out of the ordinary, a few robberies, nothing too stressful.

A few weeks ago some of the normal (not alien, crazy scientist, etc stuff, but like robberies and those normal kind of things) have gone low, which is good since he has more time to relax, this isn't normal on his daily basis.

He was tired, work and college were driving him crazy, and all he wanted was to rest his eyes a little..

He lay down on the rooftop, closed his eyes, breathed slowly and felt his body in the limbo. He knows he should not sleep while wearing the Spider-Man suit, but his spidey senses would let him know if there is danger nearby.

All he wants is to rest and breathe, and sleep and...

"Heeelp," a man's voice shouted.

"Ugh WHYY?" Spidey sat down again and felt like crying out of anger. "Why now, damn it? Couldn't you wait?"

He saw his reflection in a window of a building next to him, it wasn't flattering, he looked like a psychiatric patient.

"Okay, you need to calm down Peter, this isn't you, just breathe."

" _HEEELP!_ "

"Can't you just wait five seconds? That's all I need dude," he stood up "Okay you're gonna be fine, maybe is just a robbery, after that we'll go home... I mean _'I'_ , I'LL GO HOME, because there's no we... Geez, what's wrong with me?"

"AAHH!" the man screamed again.

"FINE, God, I'm coming!"

He never acts like this, the whole _"with great powers, come great responsibility"_ is his motto, but today he was tired and just wanted to rest, who can blame him? Yes, he is a super spider, but also human.  
He swung to the place and stayed on a near fire escape to have a better view of what was happening. There were three dead men on the floor, a lot of blood and another (the one who screamed, he supposed) pinned to the wall by a large all muscle man in a red and black suit.

"You shouldn't get involved with bad people, it is obvious that if you make them angry they will want that stupid face you've got smashed... Yes, I am very aware of the situation... No I don't think he peed himself, wait... Did you?"

Peter was very confused by the whole thing, was he talking to himself? He can't judge him though, he was doing it himself a few minutes ago, but this was different, it seemed that the guy was having a serious discussion with his brain.

"You're a very disgusting man, you just peed yourself and now everything stinks."

"P-Please, don't kill me!"

"It's not gonna hurt, pinky promise... Nope, never mind, I didn't sharp my girls this morning, so it might take a while to detach your head from the shoulders."

"HEEELP!" the man screamed again trying to get out.

"Show is over." Spidey landed next to them, but not enough to get HIS head taken off. Furthermore, cursing himself internally for the stupid phrase he used for the landing.

"And you are?" The other man in the suit asked "Yes, I'm fully aware of his sexy body."  
This was very confusing and Peter was not in the mood.

"Okay man look, I'm tired and I think you've already caused too much damage," he said pointing out to the dead bodies "So if we could just leave it here."

"Oh no can't do, he is actually the one I was called to kill. Those were just a funny entrance."  
Peter didn't get the joke, so he just stood there very tired.

"I don't want to fight."

"Me either, sunshine. Unless we're covered in lube and you're at the bottom."

"What?" This is seriously confusing.

"Anyway, please excuse me for a second while I unalive this guy and we can go for some tacos."

"NOO, please help me!" the man pinned to the wall screamed (again).

 _'Oh, right! I forgot about him'_ Peter thought.

"I can't let you do that and I don't go out with guys who kill others," he said, shooting a web at the tall man in the black and red suit, then shot another at the other guy, who was about to run away.

"Wow that's hot... So you do date guys?" asked the suited man now pinned to the wall covered in webs.

"Um okay... This was very weird... Anyway I'm gonna go and call the police, you two have a nice night, I need to sleep."

Peter turned around, fired a web to a roof, and was about to leave when the man behind hissed.

"Nice ass Baby Boy, I'm Deadpool by the way... Call me!"

Peter blushed and before anything could get any weirder, he swung away.

"Oh well, that was fun," said Deadpool cuting the webs with his katanas.

{And hot.}

[Who is he?]

"I know right?"

And detached from the wall. The other man was about to scream -again- when Deadpool pulled out one of his guns and shot him.

"Sorry dude, I was planning to have more fun with you, but right now I have a serious boner I need to work on."

{Let's watch some spider porn!}

[Even I have to admit that's disgusting... Yet I'm delighted.]

The next morning, Peter woke up feeling better, he slept through the night and didn't have to work or go to college because it was Sunday. He stood up, stretched his back -which sounded like a bone orchestra- and went to the kitchen to get some cereal (hoping he still had some because he did not have the money to buy anything). On his way to the kitchen he began to think about what happened last night

"Was it a dream?" He asked a box of cereal with the last bit of cereal in it and sighed "This is depressing, what am I gonna eat tomorrow?" He grabbed a bowl, poured the cereal in it and went back to his last night thoughts.

"Who is this guy anyway? Never seen him before... Deadpool, huh?"

He sat down, eating his breakfast and opened a book in front of him, it was about biomechanical engineering and all the nerdy things he likes.

Deadpool woke up exhausted from a night of sweaty masturbation and thoughts of love towards a little man dressed in a spider suit.

{We should stalk him!}

[Maybe we can find some google pics of his ass and masturbate more.]

"I think I need to see him again."

{I don't think he wants to see you again pal.}

[Who would've?]

"Shut up, for the first time in a long time you're not going to ruin my Sunday morning, I'm too happy to even care."

{He's not even into you and you're happy? That's sad!}

"I don't care."

[Pathetic!]

"Still don't care."

{Whatever man, I'm also in a good mood.}

[Yeah, who are we kidding? Today we're happy.]

Peter put on his suit, the sunset was almost gone and that meant time for Spider-Man, his stomach growled like crazy, he had eaten nothing but cereal in the morning, and an apple with cookies and juice in the afternoon. His fridge was empty and he only had two dollars to survive for three more days until paycheck. Maybe on the way to his duty, he could stop somewhere and buy a fruit bar or something cheap, and after that try his best not to think about food at all

Wade looked all over the internet about the cutest spider in the world, but didn't find much other than he is a superhero.

{The best one if you ask me.}

[Nope, that's Batman.]

"Wrong Universe!"

There were also pictures, which he obviously stored in a folder he named 'SexyBitsySpider'.

{Not Itsy Bitsy, that's a long story. And those pictures are for later.}

[We're gonna have so much fun with those!]

{You know what should be more fun? If we see him again.}

[Woah, first time you have a good idea.]

{I always have good ideas, you're the Ebenezer Scrooge who always _'Bah Humbug'_ me.}

"I was already suited before you said a thing."

He took his guns and katanas, tied them to the suit, and went out for some arachnid hunt.

Peter was on the rooftop eating the fruit bar, trying to imagine it was a burrito or something bigger that could actually make him feel full, when his spider senses began to tingle. He looked around and leaned to one side of the building, that's when he saw Deadpool, who was looking up. He started to jump with happiness and waved his hand, Peter bowed his head in confusion.

 _'What the actual fuck?'_ He thought as the other man started to climb, _'What is he doing? If he wanted to kill me I don't think he would've waved and acted so happy... He's kind of crazy tho so you never know... Maybe he was send to kill me...?'_

Before he could finish his thoughts, Deadpool was already in front of him and since Peter was sitting, he did the same, sitting down in front of him. Peter was seriously confused and didn't know how to react or what to say.

"Hi Baby Boy, your lips are beckoning me to jump and kiss you, but since I'm a gentleman I'm just gonna imagine it."

Peter frowned for a second with the fruit bar still in his hand, and crumbs of food around his mouth. Then he reacted.

 _'Fuck, the mask!'_ he rushed and push it down.

"Aw, show is over guys!" Deadpool grinned under his mask and Peter could see it. That mask was very expressive. He wanted to ask how, but given the circumstances it seemed rather strange.

After a while, he still very confused and a little shocked. And Deadpool talking to what he thought was his brain, he decided he had to say something.

"Um... What the fuck?"

Wade paused, looked at him silently, and reached a hand toward him.

"Wade Winston Wilson, three W's almost a record. It's a pleasure!"

 _'I don't know what is happening,'_ Peter kept thinking.

"Uumm Peter." _'WHAT? WHY? Secret identity anybody?'_

"Oh..." Wade never thought he would tell him his name. Peter extended his hand to Wade to shake hands, yes, he was still in shock and confusion, but he would never be rude enough to leave a handshake in the air. His aunt has taught him better.

{OH MY GOOOOD, WE ARE TOUCHING HIM!}

[We can now die in peace... If we could actually die.]

Wade didn't think of his next move, he just pulled Spidey towards him and hugged him.

{AAAHHH we're in heaven!}

Peter pushed him away, now he was seriously confused.

"NO! - What? -Wait... WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?"

"You're my favorite superhero, very close to Batman, but I'm pretty sure you've never heard of him because we are in another Universe, like same planet and world but different Universe, I know it's confusing but..."

"WADE STOP!"

{Wow he called us by our name.}

[It sounds angelical coming from him, even if his face is super red right now.]

{He's so confused, so cuuute!}

"Okay... Okay..." Peter got to his feet and began to move in circles.

"I thought I was supposed to be the crazy one, he looks so cute, though."

{[*Swoons*]}

"This is so weird, is it a dream?"

He looked at Wade who shook his head.

"Okay... So um who are you? And um and what are you doing here?"

Peter twisted his hands as he asked the questions, it's something he does every time he is anxious and/or confused.

"Oh, I figured you were not paying much attention."

Wade stood up and wiped his suit, "But you remembered my name, so you really paid attention to that."

He sighed and Peter could swear he saw hearts in his masked eyes.

"Anyway, I'm Wade aka Deadpool aka Merc with a mouth aka Booty killer which reminds me, you have an amazing one wow... Where was I? Oh right, I'm kind of new here, was called for a job and then I found you and now I don't ever want to leave."

Peter was staring at him with his head bent in confusion and blinking uncontrollably behind the mask..

{Aaww let's hug him again!}

[No, don't do that! Look at him he is disgusted by you.]

"Sorry, I talk a lot, even more when I'm nervous," Wade apologized and looked down.

Peter swallowed, then took a deep breath and approached Wade. He really felt bad, the guy looked as if a truck had passed over him, shoulders down and staring at the floor.

"Hey, it's okay! I kind of do that too," he said smiling. Wade looked up and noticed Spidey was smiling at him, like literally smiling.

"So um Wade or Deadpool, how do you want me to call you?"

"Whatever you want, Baby Boy."

{Daddy would be nice.}

[And if he could scream it in an orgasm, it would be better.]

Wade did his best to get that image out of his head, he needed to try to act a bit normal if he really wanted to get a chance to at least keep talking with Spidey.

"Okay, then Wade will be... Don't call me Baby Boy!"

"Oh come on, it suits perfect on you."

"Just... Fine, so what are you doing here?"

"Well, I wanted to see you."

"Me?"

Peter didn't quite understand what was happening, but he tried to play it cool, before the man in front of him could kill him or start to cry, both seemed like very possible panoramas.

"Why? Did someone send you to kill me?"

Wade stood there for a moment without moving or saying anything, Peter was starting to worry when the other busted out in laugh.

"What, kill you?" Wade laughed even harder "I would never harm a sweet little spider like you, especially with such an ass and round kissable lips like yours," when he saw that Peter was still confused, Wade stepped closer.

"I'm not gonna kill you," he said more calmed "I just wanted to see you, and talk you know."

"B-But why?"

"Well, because!"

Peter could feel the warmth of Wade's body very close to his and all that confusion in his head and the muscles of Wade's body and... _'What is wrong with you, Peter Parker? Focus!'_ Before he could say anything his stomach growled, he was very hungry and now half of his bar was lying on the floor, maybe all eaten by ants. He ran to grab it and it looked fine, just a little dirt, nothing that could kill him. He cleaned it, and rolled up his mask again _'Who cares? I'm hungry and he already saw the bottom of my face'_ And he was about to put it in his mouth when a big hand grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"Woah, you're not gonna eat that, right?"

"Um yes, I'm hungry and this is all I have."

Wade took the bar away from the boy, and threw it away.

"What? NOO! That was my dinner, why would you do that?" Peter looked at him, almost crying and pouting like a baby. Wade sighed.

"Don't worry Baby Boy, daddy is here to feed you."

"What? No Wade, you can't!" his stomach growled again, the sound was as if Cthulhu wanted to get out of him and end with the human race.

"Uh yes I can and I will before you faint and an alien comes out of that beautiful belly."

"Um... I-I don't know, I don't feel comfortable with people buying me things without me returning the favor or whatever."

"I know a way you can pay me back," Wade raised a brow and Peter saw it even with the mask on, he really needed to ask how.

"NO, don't even think about it!"

"I'm just kidding Baby Boy, come on, I want nothing more from you than your presence and a happy face with a full belly."

Peter wrapped his arms over his stomach _'I mean yeah, I'm really hungry, plus, one dinner won't kill me nor him... But this means I'll have to give something back at some point.'_ His stomach (or Cthulhu) growled again.

"Fine… But I'll invite next time."

Wade put his hands over his face and his mouth turned into an 'O'.

"Does this mean there will be a next time?"

Peter's eyes went wide and almost facepalmed _'I need to eat now before I say another stupid thing'._

Chapter 2: Feeding Cthulhu

Chapter Text

They went to a Mexican place that Wade recommended, which was a perfect idea, since Peter wanted a burrito so badly and Wade simply loves Mexican food.

While they waited for the food, Wade grabbed some crayons and a few coloring books that the restaurant left for the kids, then sat down and started painting. Since Wade is a child trapped inside a huge body, Peter didn't mind and really enjoyed watching him fight while trying not to cross the line.

"So… You kill people for a living," It wasn't a question, more like an affirmation since he had already seen his work.

"Yep!" he kept painting "I'm a mercenary."

"I see."

"How old are you kid?" Wade left the pencils on the table and looked up at him.

Peter froze, didn't know exactly why, but it seemed like a serious question all of the sudden.

"Twenty, I know I look younger, it's my height I'm like an average, but in the small kind of average," he laughed nervously and Wade nodded.

"You do look younger, and you're height is perfect," he said getting back to the painting, which made Peter smile again.

"I like how you paint," he said leaning forward to look closely.

"You do?" it came more like a squeak, so Wade tried to clear his throat. But when he looked up and saw Peter smiling, he let it pass.

{Maybe he's just being polite.}

[You paint like a 2 year old, of course he's being polite!]

But Wade was not listening, instead he got lost in Peter, who pulled his mask up to his nose and smiled again. This time Wade could see the actual smile and those beautiful lips again, and suddenly felt like fainting.

{Look at those perfect round lips *swoons*}

[I'm gonna save that in the spank bank.]

"Has anyone ever told you how perfect you are _Petey_?" Peter blushed, his cheeks turning into a pretty in pink.

"Oh!" he laughed nervously "Well… In case my Aunt doesn't count, then no, only you… I guess."

{*Sighs*}

[ *.* ]

"You're a good one, Petey Boy," said Wade smiling back and returning to the painting.

The food arrived and Peter started eating without hesitation, he was very hungry and the burrito was so good. He looked up and Wade was looking at his tacos without moving.

{You didn't think this through. Did you?}

[Better not eat, you don't want the kid to throw everything up.]

{He will run away and not come back, EVER!}

Wade was very angry now and sad and confused, he was about to scream at the boxes to leave him alone so he could think something, when he heard the sweet voice of the boy in front of him and looked up to find Peter staring at him.

"Are you gonna roll up your mask to eat those tacos or do you have a special skill to do it?" Peter smiled and Wade relaxed, taking a breath and feeling kind of better.

"I-I'm not hungry, I think I'll take this home," then he returned to the shame of looking down.

{Good, he doesn't deserve to look at your ugly face.}

[Not even in the suit, you should be ashamed to be here with him.]

"Wade," he could swear that his name coming out of those beautiful lips sounded like Christmas carols.

"Hm?" he didn't look up.

"You okay?" his voice sounded concerned.

{As if!}

[Pff please, concerned? No one cares about you!]

"Yeah I'm fine… Keep eating Petey, I'm perfectly fine," and he tried to smile but it came more like a grimace.

"Well, if you don't want to eat, then neither do I." He set the burrito on the plate and leaned back in the chair.

"No Spidey, come on! It's not that serious, it's just that… You d-don't want to see what's under this mask."

"I'm pretty sure I can handle whatever is under that mask," his voice was calm, but Wade knew he could not do that to him.

"Please eat," he looked down again.

Peter stood up and moved his chair next to Wade's, who stared at him bemused.

"Like I said, I'm pretty sure I can handle whatever it is that you hide down there," he continued smiling and Wade just wanted to be wrapped in his arms, because what a smile.

"Can I try?" Peter asked placing his hands on Wade's neck, his thumbs very close to the edge of the mask and looking straight into his eyes.

{*Gasps* No… He can't, don't let him do that!}

[We're going to lose him.]

But Wade did not pay attention to the boxes because once again he got lost in the beauty of being that it is Peter. He nodded and Peter started pulling on the mask, he could feel the touch of Peter on his bare neck and chills pierced his body. He kept looking at Peter's masked eyes, trying to read his reaction.

Peter stopped in the arch of his nose and leaned back to look at him. His skin was scarred, there was not a part of his neck, jaw or all his face that didn't have a scar.

Wade was about to pull it back down when Peter stopped him, he leaned in slowly and kissed Wade's cheek softly, then a warm smile appeared on his lips.

{… What does this mean?}

[He does not look scared nor disgusted.]

Wade could see that, Peter was smiling, and he kissed his cheek _GOD, SPIDEY KISSED HIS UGLY CHEEK_ and didn't seem like throwing up.

"Y-You don't m-mind?" he stammered and felt like dying, but Peter shook his head..

"Not at all, it's pretty incredible actually," he smiled again and Wade felt his world shift from gray to rainbow. "Does it hurt?" Peter asked and this time the concern was really there.

Wade put a hand on Peter's cheek, his skin was so smooth and beautiful, he was all beautiful and Wade had only seen his lips, but he knew that the boy sitting in front of him was the most beautiful thing in the world.

"Most of the time, yeah!" he replied in a whisper. They were so close to each other and his hand was still touching Peter's cheek, he wanted to bend and kiss him, but the whole thing of the mask was more than enough to make him happy forever.

"I'm sorry" Peter also whispered almost tilting his head against Wade's touch.

{He is? Oh my God, my heart is aching!}

[I don't even know what to say.]

"Thank you". They stayed like this for a while, Wade looking mainly at his round pink lips and Peter trying to understand everything that had just happened.

Finally he got up and returned to his side, with the chair in his hand to where his -already cold- burrito was. He sat down and bit it, before giving Wade a burrito grin.

Wade was still in shock, when Peter returned to his side of the table and grabbed the burrito, he thought how cold it could be and how he had ruined his dinner, but when Peter smiled at him with burrito on his lips, Wade could not help but smile and feel completely happy. The boxes were silent so he decided to enjoy the moment and eat his tacos in peace.

When they left the restaurant there was no awkwardness or hard feelings, only happiness.

"Well I better go home now, it was really nice to spend the night with you Wade… Thank you!"

"You're very welcome Spidey," his smile was wider than what he could ever remember to be "And the offer to pay me back is still up."

Peter grunted, shoot a web and left. Wade watched him leave and he felt truly happy.

{It would have been much better if we had kissed him.}

[And if we had taken him to our bed.]

"It was perfect the way it was."

{*sighs* Yes, too bad he'll never see you the way you want him to.}

[Maybe he's throwing up right now.]

{Poor kid, he's going to have nightmares.]

Wade froze there in the middle of the street, feeling bad and disgusting again, letting some panic attack him slowly.

{On the bright side, we still have those pictures in the laptop.}

[True, let's go home to enjoy the view!]

He let out a sigh and remembered Peter's smile when he saw his face and all the panic disappeared (at least for a while).

Chapter 3: Peter got a date

Chapter Text

Peter was having a big debate between his brain and his stomach. His brain wanted to buy something that would last for two more days, even if it tasted like air, and his stomach wanted to buy some cereal, even if a box costs all the money he has, which is like a dollar now.

He was in the aisle of the store with his eyes shifting from the cereal he wanted to the cheapest brand that tastes like air. The problem, both boxes were too small.

"I mean, if I think about it, if I buy this box of cereal and eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner, for two days, _maybe_ when I get my paycheck I'll still have some more, I just have to ration it better."

Grabbing the box, he looked further and found a large box of cereal that cost a dollar, unfortunately it is the worst cereal in the world.

"Oh, well, it will do, at least I'll eat something," he shrugged and looked to his right, there was an old man staring at him and judging him in silence for talking to himself. Peter smiled awkwardly and turned to the cashiers _'Well.. That was weird'._

Wade was happy, he could even swear he saw a unicorn this morning.

{Yes, when we went to pee, _if you know what I mean_.}

[You nasty!]

"We should do some breakfast and leave it to Peter, he looks like a hungry kid."

[Great idea, if only we knew where he lives.]

{I told you it was a good idea to knocked him down, kidnap him, dress yourself as Bea Arthur, interrogate him about everything and let him go. Not before we smack that sexy ass of course.}

"I love the Bea Arthur part, and his sexy ass of course, but not the knocked him down one, I couldn't hurt that pretty face."

[Chloroform!]

{ :) (_|_) }

He thought about it.

"NO, that is wrong people, DON'T do it!... Now if you'll excuse me, I think I have a date with a friend of mine in the bathroom, because dat ass."

Peter came home with the cereal and ate a little. As expected, it tasted very bad, but at least it was food and that's what matters. He found himself thinking about Deadpool, and his face, and his scarred neck and lips _'Those lips... Wait what?'._

"NO Peter, you can't fall for a mercenary, you just can't!" he shook his head and tried to think of something else, but when he looked down, there was something growing inside his pants.

"I think I need to go on a date, like a real one, not with my hand... Why do I keep talking to myself?"

{If there is a God up there, I hope he/she can see how pathetic we look when we masturbate and maybe he or she will feel bad and let Petey love us.}

[If there's a God I don't think it watches people masturbating.]

"Unless it's a kinky God, like the readers when they read smut fan fic."

{Those are good ones!}

[Let's read some of that!]

 _*Please excuse us while we read some Spideypool porn*_

Peter got a date.

At work it seemed like Jason, one of his co-workers was flirting with him, since Peter is so naive, he never saw it that way. Until today, because Jason actually told him he was interested and asked him out. Even if Peter has never dated another guy, he's open to anything the world has planned for him. Plus, Jason is good looking and who knows, right? They exchanged numbers and set the date for tonight.

And although he does not want to admit it out loud, he really hopes this date will help him get Wade out of his mind.

[We're back!]

{What did we miss?}

"How long for tonight? I really want to see Spidey!" Wade lay down on the couch in a tantrum.

[Ugh me too, this is taking so loong!]

{Let's watch the sunset, it looks pretty cute.}

[As cute as the writer and readers can imagine.]

"Fine, then I'll put on my suit."

"What should I wear? I haven't been on a date for like... Years."

Peter was throwing everything on the floor in the process, looking for whatever people use in dates "Maybe it's not such a good idea."

Jason is good looking though and works with him, which is a plus _'I guess?'_ but Peter still wasn't sure and the nerves were killing him. He sat on the floor with all the clothes spread around him, and suddenly saw what he wanted.

 _'Nothing fancy, but it will do'._

Wade sat on the rooftop waiting for Spidey, although they didn't agree to meet tonight, he expected for him to show up, as he always does, because he's Spider-man.

{No shit, Einstein!}

[Maybe he got tired of us.]

"We have only seen each other twice, he can't be tired."

{Well if he is... This is super sad!}

[There's a load gun in your pocket, keep that in mind.]

Peter showed up to the restaurant wearing a blue t-shirt, a black blazer, jeans and his usual hipster-like lenses. Jason was already there and waved when he saw Peter, who smiled back.

"Hey I- um... You look good" Peter stuttered nervously when he greet Jason. Becase he did look good and honestly Peter is the worst at compliments.

"Thank you, you too" Jason smiled, he had a nice smile. Wade's smile came to his mind but he put it away almost immediately _'You're on a date with Jason, focus on that!'_

The night kept going, they laughed and had a good time, but Peter's head was somewhere else, even if he didn't admit it, he was thinking of someone else.

*** THE WHOLE DATE ***

They were saying goodbye when Jason leaned over to kiss Peter and he stepped back, the whole situation became very uncomfortable when Peter tried to explain himself without sounding like a jerk.

"I... I just... I mean, I think I caught the flu, so you know."

"It's okay Pete, I've been sick before," he was going all the way again.

"NO Jason!... I can't, I wouldn't forgive myself if I make you sick."

"Please don't worry about me, I'm really into kissing you right now," he was willing to win, leaning over Peter, who almost fell over. Jason did so when he got very close, grabbed Peter from the back of his neck and pulled him closer to wrap their lips together

Peter's eyes widened and at some point he let himself go with it, the only problem was that through the whole thing, he could not stop thinking about Wade.

{He must hate us.}

[It was obvious that this was going to happen, only you and your stupid heart would believe that he would be interested in someone like you!]

Wade was tired and sad, very sad, he really wanted to see Spidey and buy him food because he knows he needs that. And the boxes were not helping.

He was about to leave when he heard a noise coming from behind, he turned and there he was, wiping his suit from dust he'd caught in the air.

Peter didn't see it coming (or maybe he did, but didn't mind) in one second Wade was hugging him.

"Omg omg omg Petey you came, I thought you were not going to and I was all depressed and about to kill myself, but then you showed up."

"You were going to kill yourself? Wade!" Peter was actually concerned.

"I know, I know, but don't worry about it, I'll heal and I'll be back. Anyway now you're here and ... Is that perfume?"

Peter flushed and was very thankful for the mask.

"Um yeah I... It's nothing" Wade looked at him astonished and put a hand over his heart.

"Did you wear perfume, _FOR ME_?" He asked as he bounced up and down on his feet. He looked so happy, Peter just could not tell him the truth, so he simply nodded, and a squeeze came out of Deadpool's mouth.

"So, something interesting happening?" Peter asked, trying to change the subject.

"Other than you wearing perfume? No..." Wade sat on one side of the roof and swung his legs. Peter just laughed and felt his phone buzzing, it was a text.

Jason: Tonight was fun, hope we can repeat it ;)

Peter now felt bad for the guy. He didn't answer and put the phone aside. He approached the edge of the roof and heard something, screams.

"Did you hear that?" He asked turning to Wade.

"Yep, those are definitely screams... Ooh can I come?" Peter looked at him with a lifted eyebrow.

"I thought you only killed people, not save them."

"True, but it will be fun to do this with you." Peter smiled and blushed, again thankful for the mask.

"Okay then, let's go."

Wade gasped "Spider-Monkey?" Peter rolled his eyes still smiling like a goof.

"Fine, hold on tight."

When they reached the place, Wade felt dizzy so they had to wait until his body returned to normal. Peter shrugged.

"Sorry, but don't worry, you'll get used to it."

They inspected the place, there were flames and people shouting. The building was on fire and there were about twelve men in front of it, laughing and throwing flames everywhere. They all had fire on them.

"Mutants probably."

"Not the good ones."

{This are definitely not from the _Charlies Ex's_ school.}

[That's not what it's called.]

{You got the point.}

"Ready?" Peter looked up at him and Wade nodded.

"I was born ready, Baby Boy." He was about to leave when Peter pushed him back.

"No killing, Wade!"

"Oh come on Petey, where's the fun in that?" Peter glared at him.

"I mean it."

"I know, I know... FINE, no killing."

So they walked towards the mutants who turned to them laughing.

"Oh look, the spandex guys are here!"

"This is gonna be so much fun" said another with a creepy smile.

"It will boy," Wade grunted "Now shut your fucking mouth before I think about breaking the _'No killing rule'_. And mine is leather you uncultured swine."

At first the mutants began throwing flames at them, but when realizing that this didn't work, because both Deadpool and Spidey are very fast and flexible. They began to fight with their own abilities. Peter was doing his best not to hurt the people around them and Wade was trying very hard not to kill any of the buttheads in front of him.

They were very fast, plus the fire didn't help to make it any easier. Every time they knocked one out, another came behind. Peter kept shooting webs at those who fell, to put them with the rest of the fainted mutants. It went like that for a long period of time.

Spidey was having a hard time with a particular mutant. He was big, wearing a leather jacket with thorns coming out of his arms and shoulders, and a cable burning on fire in his hand, using it as a whip. He jumped very fast and before Peter could react, he felt a strong blow to the lower back.

"Fuck" He groaned when he felt the burn getting louder.

"You are slow" the stupid mutant said and Peter kind of took it personal (a lot).

"Oh yeah?" He fired a web that went straight to the wall behind the mutant.

"JAA, you missed!" Peter jumped and swayed with the web to kick the guy in the face and knock him down.

"Not really," he said in a sassy tone "Besides, haven't you seen movies, dude? This always happens."

"HOT!" Wade shouted from behind. Peter blushed and giggled, then shook his head in disbelief and looked around to make sure no one saw him. _'Damn it, Peter!'_ he facepalmed and returned to the fight.

Wade on the other hand was trying very hard not to kill the assholes in front of him, because he promised Spidey. So all he could do was kick and hit their faces against the floor or walls.

{Very gently.}

[Just enough to need plastic surgery.]

{But not to kill them… At least that's the hope.}

He heard Peter groaning in pain from behind. So he turned and saw the little man on the floor, his back was badly damaged, and there was a stupid mutant with a stupid smile on his face in front of him. He had a sword burning in flames.

"Oh no bitch, that won't happen!" So he drew his katana and when the other raised the sword to maybe cut Peter in half, Wade made a clean cut and released the hand from his wrist. The sword struck the ground with one hand still attached to it. The mutant looked down with panic and screamed looking at his no-longer-hand.

"Ugh, shut up!" Wade said before kicking him and sending him directly to the ground.

"Good night, how bad that not all mutants get to grow another hand."

{Loool that was good!}

[Daamn, all these flavors and you choose to be salty!]

"I had it controlled," Peter said from behind, so Wade turned around and knelt a leg next to him.

"Yeah, I can see that," he smiled. Peter was seriously injured. He was, too, but at the time, that didn't matter. "Let's go to my place, it's closer and I can help you with those bruises."

There were more burns and cuts than bruises, but he didn't want Peter to worry, even though he clearly could feel them. The police came along with the firefighters so they decided it was time to go.

"Okay... I think I can walk." Peter tried to stand up as his face twisted in pain.

"I can help you Petey!"

"Nope, I can do this."

{Stubborn little spider.}

[Help him a little!]

Wade came closer but Peter stopped him.

"I can do this Wade, you can carry me to your apartment if you want, but at least let me stand up with dignity," he said smiling. So Wade stepped back trying his best not to jump and help him. After a few minutes Peter was standing.

"See, I told you I could." Now Wade rushed to his side.

"I can carry you." Peter rolled his eyes, even if Wade couldn't see that.

"Just let me lean on you, I'm pretty sure I can walk. Just try not to grab my butt in the process!"

"Aw but that's the best part," they both laughed. Wade put an arm under Peter's and like that they went to his place.

While they were in the elevator going up to Wade's apartment, it stopped and when the doors opened an old lady appeared in front of them. She was there, looking at them in shock. They were covered in blood. Peter was sitting on the floor with his head tilted to one side of the elevator and Wade was leaning toward the other. Both tried their best to restore their composure when they saw the old lady.

"Are you going up or down boys?" The lady asked.

Peter was trying to get up, his mask and most of the suit were shattered. Wade on the other hand was trying to clean his -also very damaged- suit. Both were doing their best not to frighten the old lady.

"Up, Ma'am!" Wade replied trying to smile, completely forgetting that his mask was rolled up to his nose.

{Shit, your face. She must be scared now!}

[Oh great, you scared the shit out of a Golden Girl with your ugly mug.]

Wade was about to pull it down when the lady gave him a warm smile.

"Oh okay then, I'm going down... Have a nice night boys!"

The doors closed and they both bowed their heads while looking at the doors, blinking a lot in the process. Then they looked at each other very confused, and began to laugh with some "Ouch's and Fuck's" between each laugh.

When they entered the apartment, Wade turned on the lights, it was a large apartment. The walls had posters of kittens, unicorns, Golden Girls, guns and some Spider-man pictures. The kitchen and living room were in the same room, which was very large compared to Peter's. Wade lead Peter to his room (which also had all these posters and some unicorns and Spider-man cushions on the bed. Stuck to the wall there were some Christmas lights, not in the Pinterest kind of way, but more in the Wade's kind of way.) Peter couldn't help but smile. He then led him to the bathroom and sat Peter on top of the toilet.

"Wait here Petey, I'll bring the emergency kit."

Peter looked around as he waited. It was a very white bathroom _'Who would have thought?'_ He kept smiling because even if his body ached, he could not stop thinking about how cute and amazing Wade is. When Wade returned, he was no longer wearing his mask, and Peter could not help but stare. Wade dropped to his knees in front of him, set the box aside, and pulled out a small bottle of peroxide and gauze before looking up at Peter.

"This is gonna hurt Baby Boy, you ready?"

Peter felt lost in his beautiful blue eyes, so he simply nodded stupidly.

"Okay then 1, 2…" And pressed a gauze against one of the deepest cuts in his stomach. Peter squirmed in response "I know Baby Boy, I know. I'm sorry!" He kept cleaning, and with every touch Peter writhed more, and Wade felt like shit. Finally, he poured cream very gently over the burns.

Peter now looked like a mummy, bandages everywhere. Wade leaned back to look at him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you! Hey, what about your wounds? We should take care of them too!"

"Don't worry about me Baby Boy, like I said before, I heal very fast, they are probably no longer there," and he showed Peter his arm, the wounds that were there before, now didn't exist. "See?"

"That's amazing!"

{He thinks we're amazing!}

"Nope, he thinks I'm amazing."

Peter was already used to Wade talking to what he called _'His boxes'_ so he just smiled and found himself looking into his eyes, lost in them again. He decided that since Wade had taken off his mask, he could do the same. He reached the back of it-

{OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHMYGOD!}

[Is he going to…?]

-And ripped the mask off his head, leaving it on the floor. Then he looked at Wade, whose face was in complete shock.

{Wow…}

[I knew he was pretty, but this is just… Wow!]

The boy in front of him was an angel who fell from the sky and has not yet realized. Messy hair that Wade couldn't understand how he kept under that mask. Below it, very expressive brows that just like the hair were dark brown. Just beneath them beautiful hazel doe eyes surrounded by long playful lashes. Then his nose, which was perfectly pointy. And the lips, jesus those naturally round pink lips were a masterpiece. All together in a perfectly soft, pale silk skin.

They simply looked at each other, saying nothing. It seemed that the world stopped only for them.

[What a cliché!]

{But true though.}

" _Wow!_ " Wade said in a whisper. Peter smiled all flushed, and rubbed the back of his neck.

{He's so cuuute!}

[*Swoons*]

"You have beautiful eyes, Wade," he said shyly.

[Wut..?]

{He likes our eyes!}

Wade was completely flushed now. "Thanks."

They couldn't stop looking into each other's eyes, it felt very intimate, almost hypnotizing. Peter bent to kiss Wade, when...

"Who is Jason?" Peter froze. Wade's voice sounded sad and angry, all at once.

"W-What?" Wade was now looking at the floor.

"Jason... I-I saw a text, sorry. It was when you leaned on the roof to hear the screams better, and I saw it: Tonight was fun, hope we can repeat it, winky face... So the perfume wasn't for me." It was not a question, he already knew the answer.

{Of course it wasn't for us!}

[How pathetic from you to actually believe something like that.]

"Wade..." Peter tried to say something, like how confused he was before, but not anymore. That he was really sure now that he had feelings for him. But nothing came out. Wade stood up, he looked very sad and Peter wanted so badly to say something.

"It's okay Petey, I'm tired. You sleep in the bed and I'll sleep on the couch."

"Wait!"

"We need to rest, good night Peter." He left the room and closed the door behind him.

 _'He's never called me just Peter before'._

Chapter 4: Finally! *

Chapter Text

He could hear Peter putting on some clothes from the other room, and a _'snap'_ when the elastic from the sweatpants he gave him touched his skin.

{This is torture!}

[Just peek a little.]

"No!"

Wade talked a lot, but he was not a pervert. Even though his body was betraying him since he was almost in front of the door. He stopped abruptly when Peter appeared under the arc with gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt - with the face of Deadpool in the front - that Wade went to buy while he was still asleep.

{The Deadpool thing was totally on purpose.}

[I think they got it.]

"OH HEY!" He screamed in panic.

{Great, be a freak.}

[If you were pathetic before, imagine now.]

"Oh... Hi!" said Peter with a nervous chuckle and rubbing the back of his neck.

{How can he be so cute?}

"So... _Ja_... Do you want some breakfast or something?"

Peter was hungry, he had not eaten a real breakfast in a long time (actually last week when he visited Aunt May), but he didn't think it was a good idea after what happened last night, and the way everything turned so awkward.

"Um, actually I don't. I-I mean..."

"It's just breakfast, the most important meal of the day... Come on, I did a lot and now I can't eat everything by myself."

[You totally could.]

Wade tried to smile a little, but it came out awkward, just like the whole situation they were in.

"Mmm," Peter looked at the kitchen that was full of food.

{He's cute when he's confused.}

[Let's fuck him on top of the kitchen island!]

Wade tried to block all the images in his brain - and save them for later - because right now, waking Wade Jr up wouldn't be such a good idea.

"Okay, fine." Wade grinned at him and Peter couldn't help but giggle.

{I'm in love right now!}

[A smile like that can even cure cancer, you should have met him before, maybe Weapon X wouldn't be a thing right now.]

Peter tried to help Wade serve the dishes, but the other didn't let him, and ordered him to take a seat. Then Wade came to the island and put many plates, one with eggs, bacon and sausage. Another with waffles and pancakes. And the other with fruit and some whipped cream and maple syrup to eat it all. He then set a plate in front of Peter and sat down across him with a plate for himself.

"Eat all you want!" Peter smiled and began to grab everything he could put on his plate. Wade did the same and both ate as if there was no tomorrow.

"Uumm Wade..." Peter was playing with the eggs on his plate.

"What is it? Is it cold or bad?" He asked this with a piece of bacon coming out of his mouth.

{Oh no! You gave him cold food!}

[Jason probably gives him better food.]

{And something else.}

"Shut up!" he whispered and stabbed a sausage.

"What?" Peter was now looking at him.

"Um no, nothing. What were you going to say?"

"The food is amazing, don't worry, it's not that... Thank you actually for everything," he cleared his throat and swallowed. "Last night... And now the food, I don't even know how to thank you."

{I do!}

[Where's the whip cream and the maple syrup?]

"No problem." He didn't feel like flirting, he was actually mad and wanted so badly to find this Jason and... He heard Peter talking.

"And about the text," he seemed uncomfortable.

{Oh no! He's gonna say he loves him!}

[I don't think you can handle this.]

"It's okay, I really shouldn't have read that and if you're with him that's fine, good for you... _Both_." Every word felt like bricks trying to get through his throat, and now he seriously wanted to kill someone.

{Someone with a stupid name like Jason.}

[I bet he's ugly af!]

{He can't be uglier than you, that's for sure.}

[True words.]

Peter could see that Wade was getting angry because he stabbed all the food before putting it in his mouth and crushing it with his teeth.

"That's not... He's not."

"IT'S OKAY PETER, I DON'T WANT TO KNOW!" He said loudly and squeezed the fork and knife in his hands tightly.

"Wade!"

"Please, let's just enjoy the food," now he lowered his voice because he saw that Peter was a bit scared and he would never want to scare him "I'm just sorry I mentioned it."

"I was going to kiss you!"

{WHAT?}

[O.O]

Wade didn't move or say anything, he was not sure if what Peter had just said was what he heard.

"Last night... But then you mentioned him and I-"

"And you remembered you love him," Wade lowered his gaze again, his voice a combination of anger and sadness.

"What? No! I mean yeah, we went on a date and he kissed me," Wade's expression changed again to a very angry one, so Peter was quick to finish "but it meant nothing."

{...}

[I am so confused right now.]

"So, you are not with him?"

"No."

"Or love him?"

"Not even a little."

[So...]

{What does that mean?}

Wade looked at Peter who was looking at his hands as he twisted them.

[He's nervous!]

{OH MY GOD, THIS IS SO CONFUSING!}

[AND AWKWARD... Say something!]

"And you wanted to kiss me?" Now Peter's hands turned into an actual twister "Hey Petey be careful. You're gonna break 'em," Wade smiled nervously.

"Oh, right!" He lowered his hands. "Yes, I wanted to."

"Oh..."

{Awkward silence again.}

[You can actually cut the air with a knife.]

"I'd better go now," Peter got up quickly. "I think my suit is in your room." And ran to the bedroom. When he returned, Wade was standing in front of the front door.

"I..." Peter tried to articulate, but Wade came over and stood in front of him. They were so close that they could feel each other's breath. Peter looked up to find Wade's eyes, he was smiling.

"Why the rush, Petey? Are you sure you didn't left something else behind?"

"I... I" Wade leaned in and touched noses with him. Not breaking eye contact.

" _You what?_ " He asked in a low, hoarse voice. Peter swallowed and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Wade kissed him.

[{AAAHH}]

First it was shy, then became more passionate and wet when their tongues touched and played with each other. Peter dropped the suit and put his hands on Wade's neck. His lowering down to the lower part of Peter's back, pulling his shirt to feel his perfect skin. Peter gasped at the touch and Wade bit his lower lip. He could feel the blood running madly through his body, he just wanted to kiss every part of Peter's body.

{*Poor imitation of Shia Labeouf* JUST DO IT!}

[I'm pretty sure you're already hard.]

Peter could feel Wade's scarred skin and he loved it, every touch felt different and his body trembled every time. The kiss not to mention, was taking away every sense of his body. Wade's lips were chapped and soft all at once. He didn't want to stop, his blood running down his body as Wade began to kiss his jaw and he moaned with each kiss. Then he licked his neck and Peter backed away with his eyes wide open.

{Shit... What did you do?}

[You hurt him, asshole?]

"Are we going to...?" Peter asked breathlessly and Wade shook his head, hands up in panic.

"No! If you don't want to, that's okay, we don't have to rush anything."

"I do... Is just that-"

{JUST WHAT?}

[...?]

"I've never... You know, done this before." Wade stood there, eyes wide and gaping, trying to process the words that had just come out of Peter's mouth.

[... He's a virgin?]

{OH MY GOOOD, I'm gonna cry of happiness!}

"So you're... You're a virgin?"

Peter rubbed the back of his neck and blushed. "Well, at least with men, and the anatomy is different. Yes, I know I have my own body to study, but it's not the same because-"

"HEY, hey!" Wade grabbed him by the waist to bring him closer again "It's okay, don't start rambling, that's more my style. But like I said before, if you don't want to do this now, that's okay, the kiss itself was more than enough to die in Peace with a smile on my face."

[If we could actually die.]

{Stop Scrooge, let him be a poet.}

"B-But I... I want to," he let out a light chuckle and Wade felt his heart try to get out of his hoodie to embrace the beautiful face in front of him.

{Like that Grinch scene where his small heart grew three sizes.}

[You should shut up before you make it worse.]

"You sure Petey?"

"Very, besides I'm not the kind of person who would leave a poor man in the middle of a boner." He blushed and looked at Wade's pants and the hard anaconda between his legs.

{JA, good one!}

Now it was Peter who kissed him. Wade hugged him tight and didn't want to let him go.

"Should we go to the bedroom or...?" Peter asked shyly.

{Fuck him on top of the island with all the food and everything!}

[Or fuck him right here, on the floor!]

{Or just fuck him!}

"Yeah sure, the room is fine... But first." He pulled Peter closer and put his hands on his ass, then squeezed it. Peter gasped and his eyes widened. "Sorry Sweet-Cheeks, I've been waiting to do that since we met," then he lifted him from under his knees and began to kiss his neck.

"If your neck tastes so good, I can't imagine down there." Peter blushed and looked away.

{ E!}

[I think I love him!]

Before laying him down on the bed, he pulled Peter's shirt off and continued to kiss his jaw and neck. Once in bed, Wade stayed on top of him, and his hand began to caress his chest, down to his abs, while licking his neck. Peter moaned and Wade couldn't resist kissing him. Peter bit into Wade's lower lip and now it was he who was groaning.

Wade stopped the kiss to go down to his neck and chest. Traveling with his mouth and tongue. Peter put both hands in Wade's arms and when Wade reached one of his nipples and licked, his fingers tightened.

"You like that, Baby Boy?" he asked before licking the other nipple, Peter only whimpered.

{He tastes so good!}

[I truly wonder what he tastes down there.]

Peter was very hard now and Wade could feel it. He kissed him again and now Peter could feel Wade's hard cock against his. So he began to move his hips causing Wade to break the kiss and pant against his cheek.

He tried to regain control of his body, almost trembling with pleasure.

"Fuck Petey, you're gonna make me come before we even start."

Peter chuckled and Wade kissed him. One of his hands lay on top of Peter, his fingers touching his chest and stomach. Trying to find his way to the beautiful thing Peter has between his thighs. With each touch Peter pulled his head back to let out little moans. Wade took advantage and continued to kiss his neck.

His hand slipped under his sweatpants...

{THANK GOD FOR COMANDO!}

[Who needs underwear anyway?]

Peter made a breathless sound whispering in his ear and Wade could feel his cock getting harder and aching like crazy. He needed to regain his composure again.

His thumb was busy stroking the head of Peter's cock, making slow circles, while the rest of his hand was massaging the remaining perfectly large member.

"You feel fucking amazing, Baby boy."

Peter pulled his head back again and grabbed Wade's arms. Before Wade could react, he was the one who had his back on the bed with Peter on top of him, smiling playfully.

"So that's how we play, huh?" Wade growled. Peter put his hands on Wade's chest and bent to kiss him. Wade took advantage of it, grabbing him by the waist and moving his hips, pressing their crotches against each other.

"Aw fuck!" Peter moaned pulling himself up with his hands over Wade's chest.

There were many moans and groans before they stopped. Peter pressed his forehead against Wade's, both of them panting for breath. He put a hand under Wade's pants and began to touch the man's groin. Wade arched his back and grabbed Peter's hair with his fist, pulling him closer for a kiss. Not too hard to hurt, but enough to make both men moan over the kiss.

Peter moved so that his lips could be next to Wade's ear, and whispered, "Can I go down there?"

{YES YES YES!}

[Of course you can baby, get down there and have a second breakfast.]

Wade nodded and bit his lips, he could swear he got harder, this kid was going to kill him.  
Peter lowered Wade's pants and stared at his (anaconda) big dick, _'Okay, this is bigger than I expected'_ he thought without realizing his eyes were wide.

"I know is big Baby Boy, but it won't bite."

{You sure? ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° }

[ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ]

Peter flushed and bit his lower lip.

{Shit... We're harder, right?}

"Very!"

[If we get any harder it will turn into a rock.]

"I'm pretty sure it will," he said as he looked at Peter, who was taking it into his pale and soft hands. Still looking at it like if it was going to eat him.

{If you actually let it free, it totally would.}

He then turned to Wade.

"Do you have lube?" Peter asked shyly.

"If I have? There's a box full of them under the bed, Baby Boy" Peter got out of bed and was about to look for the box when he looked at Wade with an angry face.

{A very cute angry face.}

"How many people do you have in your bed every night that you need a box full of lube?"

[He's really trying to look mad, but he just looks cuter.]

Wade smiled and sit on the bed so they could rest their foreheads together.  
"I barely have anyone in my bed sunshine, I just masturbate a lot." Peter blushed again and Wade kissed him on the nose, "Besides, no matter how many people have been here, no one will ever beat you."

"I know that's supposed to be a compliment, but it's not helping... Lie down again before I change my mind."

{Now you better shut that ugly mug before we end up with a terrible case of blue balls.}

[Capisci?]

Wade nodded and Peter returned to bed with a bottle of lube in his hand, it seemed he was having fun and Wade felt more than alive. He tossed some lube in one hand, closed the bottle and rubbed it against the other. Then he massaged Wade's scrotum and, before Wade could react, he bent down to kiss and lick the tip of his dick.

"OH GOD PETEY!"

{You sure he's a virgin?}

[I know, right? He really knows how to make his job.]

{Poor Jason, he didn't get the chance to enjoy this.}

[Unless he lied to us and actually had a good time with the guy.]

 _'You two, shut the fuck up and let me enjoy this in peace!'_

Peter was still touching and playing, almost analyzing what was in his hands, he was fascinated. Yes, it was big, but that was not exactly what caught his attention, all the scars and how they felt... He stopped.

"I want it inside me!"

Wade who was almost in the limbo of pleasure looked at him in shock.

"Oh no, Baby boy. That will have to wait, you're not ready," Peter crawled up to face him.

"Try me!" he said in a sassy tone, and Wade groaned without realizing it.

{What a horny little spider.}

[Ñaau!]

"Okay, but first there's need to be a long process with this friends," he put his hand in front of Peter's face and wiggled his fingers.

"How does it work?" Peter asked very interested.

{He's the cutest thing}

"Well .." Wade grabbed him and laid him on the bed, Peter was now at his side looking at him and biting his lower lip. "First of all, you can't bite your lip like that because it will make me come before I get inside you. Peter chuckled.

[He's perfect!]

"Second, I'm going to pour some lube over my fingers and make my way into that perfect hole you have in that beautiful ass of yours," Peter blushed as Wade turned to his side and kissed him, then he stayed there facing him.

"And then, if and only if you're ready, this monster of mine can get inside you." Peter's eyes gleamed as he explained.

{Look how excited he is!}

[I don't think you can handle yourself any longer with a face like that looking at you.]

"Okay, do it!" Peter said without hesitating.

"Really, just like that?"

"Well, what do you want me to do? I really want you inside me and the longer we wait, the more impatient I get." Wade laughed.

"You're a really horny little spider, aren't ya?" Peter smiled and kissed him.

{That's my line!}

[I know.]

He sat on the bed next to Peter and looked down at him. There wasn't enough skin showing for Wade's taste. He wanted him naked. So he grabbed the waistband of the sweatpants and tossed them until they disappeared onto the floor. Peter gasped and Wade looked down to his pink and straining groin.

{Damn that's beautiful!}

[I'm so hungry right now!]

He couldn't wait, so he wrapped one hand around the base and bent to lick and kiss the head, Peter grabbed Wade's head with a moan.

"You taste better than I thought, Baby Boy."

Wade pulled off his hoodie, grabbed the lube to pour some over his hand, then began to grasp and spread the sticky fingers to make sure they were ready. Peter on the other side couldn't stop the fascination for the older man's body, all the scars and his muscles, it was amazing and hot all at once.

Wade placed himself on top of him, put his clean hand on the sheets next to Peter's head and bent down to kiss him. He could feel that Peter was shaking with pleasure.

[This kid is not gonna last.]

{Shh, let's all be positive.}

"Try to hold it," Wade said, brushing his lips against the boy's. Peter nodded and felt a finger massaging his hole. He did not know exactly what to do or feel, he had never felt anything like that down there.

"Relax, I won't hurt you." Wade had his face buried in Peter's neck now, so he kissed him there to let out some tension. Peter started to breathe and tried to relax.

"Petey you're too tight, I don't think my friend will get in there today."

{Yes, yes you will, don't be so fucking negative.}

[Everything is possible if we work together.]

"Try me!" Wade looked up and Peter was smiling at him with a very playful look.

[He totally wants us.]

{See, told ya!}

Wade groaned and slipped a finger inside him. Peter got tighter "Relax, Baby Boy."

Peter put a hand on his face, he was a bit embarrassed, but tried to breathe and relax again. He could get used to it, it wasn't so bad. Wade began to move his finger slowly and Peter gasped, now with his hand over his mouth.

{He's so cute when he is shy.}

[He's also cute when he's not ;)]

"He's always cute." Peter blushed at that and could only imagine what the boxes were saying about him.

{This is a very dirty place.}

[Good thing he can't read minds.]

"Is that okay?" Wade asked, trying to be gentle down there. Peter nodded.

"You can add one more, if you want," he said getting completely red.

{I'M GONNA DIE!}

[*.*]

Wade smiled and kissed his neck again, placing another finger slowly inside him. Peter closed his eyes tightly, and Wade kissed him all over his chest, getting to lick and bite the nipples when he found the opportunity, trying to make him relax. As a response, Peter whimpered.

{Sounds so good coming from him.}

[You should totally look for his spot.]

Wade raised an eyebrow. _'Why didn't I think of that before?'_

{You were too busy being polite.}

[Or just stupid.]

And he did, putting more weight on the arm next to Peter's face and moving the fingers of the other. Peter kept arching his back with each movement.

"It will get better, Baby boy." Peter looked at him a bit confused, then Wade pressed against his prostate and Peter's eyes widened, he contracted his toes and a loud moan found Wade's ears, who smiled proudly.

{Better than any porn.}

[And trust us, we've seen a lot.]

"I'll add another, okay?" Peter nodded again, but barely paid attention with all the pleasure running through his body.

Wade introduced another finger and Peter pulled his head back. He was seriously having a good time, and Wade was enjoying the view.

"Wade get inside me already!" he said almost fighting the words for the pleasure.

"Too soon, trust me."

"I don't care!" the answer came out almost breathless.

"I know what I have Petey, and you're not…"

"Wade, NOW!"

{Well shit!}

[We got the jackpot with this one.]

"Okay okay. Geez" Peter blushed and hid his face in his hands.

{There's too much cuteness in him, I can't even.}

[RELEASE THE KRAKEN!]

Wade reached over to the bedside table, grabbed a condom, and opened it to put it on. Rubbing it just to make sure it was slippery enough.

{If there's a God up there, please let this kid live after this.}

[Or walk.]

{Or sit.}

"I'm sure he got the point guys," Wade said nervously. He really wanted to get inside him, but not to hurt him "Okay Petey I'm coming, ready?" Peter took a deep breath and nodded.

{He's such a determined kid.}

[I almost feel bad for him.]

"You're not helping."

"Me?" Peter asked looking at him. Wade shook his head in embarrassment. "Oh… The boxes… Got it!"

{Love you, babyyyy!}

"Okay, here I come." Wade began to slowly enter.

"Nope, more lube," said Peter twitching his eyes.

"Oops, sorry sorry, my bad." He drew the tip and Peter took a deep breath. "You know we don't have to, really. I can wait."

{No you can't!}

[It's aching like shit right now, don't be stupid.]

"Just pour more lube on it, Wade," then Peter looked at him determinedly. Eyes that will become Wade's death someday, he was sure "I can handle it".

[Put that thing in there.]

{Let the Anaconda get inside the cave!}

[No, that didn't sound well.]

"Okay, ready?" Peter nodded and Wade started going back again. This time with enough lube.

{There's never enough lube for that thing.}

Peter twitched and looked away.

"You okay, Baby Boy?" He nodded, face now pink and sweaty.

[Which doesn't help our aching Loch Ness Monster.]

Wade did everything possible not to lose it and kept pushing, but very slow so that it didn't hurt the boy, who had a tear running from the corner of his eye.

"Fuck Petey really, if this is too much we can stop."

"Wade... Just keep going, please." He could see that Wade was struggling not to get in too fast. So Peter grabbed Wade's waist and pulled him to his chest, until his cock was all in. They both shouted a very loud groan.

"Shit Petey, you okay?" Due to the sudden pull, Wade collapsed over Peter's body.

"Fuck... That felt good!" Said Peter gasping. Wade smiled and started kissing him all over his face and neck. Letting the other get used to the feeling, and for his muscles in there to acclimate.

When Peter seemed to be completely relaxed, he got up again and started moving his hips. Slowly at first, just to make sure he wouldn't hurt him, but when the boy whined eagerly, Wade went at a faster pace.

Peter moaned and gripped Wade's arms. He understood the message, wrapping Peter's cock with his hand and stroking it to the rhythm of his hips. And when Wade hit the prostate, Peter's eyes flipped along with his head and a breathless sound came out of his mouth.

{HALLELUJAH!}

[This is what heaven or Narnia looks like, I'm sure.]

They went on like that, groaning and moaning. Going faster at some points and then slowing down when all the sensations were too much. That until they both got into a limbo of pleasure and came.

{Not at the same time, but you got the point.}

[If you want true details, go and have some sex.]

Wade rested his head on Peter's shoulder, who turned to kiss him and smiled.

"That was amazing!"

"Glad I helped a homie out," both laughed and Peter started playing with Wade's ear. "Let's do it again in a few hours." Peter raised an eyebrow "Or in a few minutes woah, hungry spider!"

Chapter 5: Time to meet Aunt May!

Chapter Text

It's been two weeks and it's all been amazing (more than either of them could imagine). Sometimes they sleep in Peter's, but spend most of the time in Wade's apartment because Peter likes the view. And honestly, his apartment is too small.

Even though Wade kills people for a living and Peter does exactly the opposite, they have learned to accept that. Especially Peter since Wade couldn't care less if Peter is a hero or a psychopath, he simply loves the little man.

Peter was lying on the bed studying, with a large book in front of his face. Wade was sitting at the end of the bed with the laptop on his lap, reading an e-mail for a job, and talking on the phone to the man who contacted him.

"I couldn't care any less of a shit if you can't pay me all right now. If you don't, then this call is over."

{That's right, let the bastard know who is the boss.}

[He's the one paying tho.]

"I know Whitey, but it's not what we ask for... No stupid, I'm not talking to you. Is your name Whitey? Yeah, didn't think so."

Peter smiled. He loves it when Wade is like that, acting like a badass when inside he is just a puppy. He walked over and put his feet on Wade's back to massage him.

"No, I don't care I... _Oh, that's good._ " he said now lowering his voice "Ugh no dude, AGAIN, I'm not talking to you." Wade turned his head slightly to get a better view of Peter. "Mhm, yeah right... _Fuck right there_... Yeah yeah, sure." Peter chuckled and continued massaging his back with one foot. With the other, sticking out his tongue, he reached Wade's crotch, still with the book in front of him.

"Like I said before, I don't care. It's not my problem and... _Oh_... Fuck okay, I have to go man. Yeah yeah, whatever... _Mmm shit_... Yeah okay, send me the money, bye." He turned and lay on top of Peter, taking the book away from his sight.

" _Hi!_ " said Peter biting his lip.

"Let's have some morning sex... Again." purred Wade and immediately began to kiss his neck.

"My aunt called yesterday when I was at work."

"Hmh," he was barely paying attention to anything but eating his entire body.

"And she invited me over for dinner, tonight."

"Good." he mumbled.

"Yeah... I told her you were coming."

{PAY ATENTION!}

[...]

Wade stopped, and looked up at him "Sorry what?"

"Well, I wanted her to meet you, I hope it's not too soon or whatever."

"She knows I'm your boyfriend? Or whatever we are," he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortable. Peter rolled his eyes and kissed him.

"You ARE my boyfriend and nope, she has no idea. I just told her that you were a friend who was visiting from another country." Wade raised a hairless eyebrow.

"What country?"

"Australia?" Peter shrugged with a grimace and Wade snorted. "I was in panic and it was the first country that came to mind. Of course Canada would have been the best choice and the actual truth, but I just panicked."

"Great, and what are we going to tell her when I speak with no accent and never actually return to my sweet life in Australia?" Peter rolled his eyes again and smiled.

"I'll tell her at some point, it's just that I want her to meet you before she finds out that I'm dating a guy. Maybe she'll like you and won't mind."

"And what about when I appear with this beautiful face of mine?"

{Yikes!}

[Poor lady.]

"I'm pretty sure she won't mind about your looks. Besides, you're super handsome." Peter smiled and Wade returned it.

"I'm already nervous, I don't think I can have morning sex anymore."

"M-kay." Peter said and reopened the book in front of Wade's face.

"JA, as if!" he took the book away from his hands and tickled him until he could barely breathe.

"WHAT SHOULD I WEAR?"

{Doesn't matter what you wear, with a face like yours, nobody will pay attention to the clothes.}

[And not in the compliment kind of way.]

"Yes, I think I got it, but you're not helping."

Peter was at work, and Wade was about to kill himself of how nervous he was.

{Literally.}

[Like there's a gun right there.]

"Still not helping." All his clothes were scattered on the floor, so he sat in the middle of it and sighed, "I need Peter."

{You could watch some Fashion Police and take advice.}

[I hate that show.]

{You are stupid!}

[YOU are stupid!]

"You two are literally the same person." He grabbed his phone while the boxes were still fighting and called Peter.

 _*Phone ringing*_

"Is there a problem?" Peter whispered from the other side.

"Wow rude, how about a _'Hi baby how are you? I've missed you.'_ "

"Wade..."

"Fine, there IS a problem actually."

"I'm listening."

"So um... I don't know what to wear for tonight." There was a long pause and Wade began to play with a shoe that was at his side.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Oh baby, you're still there!"

"Wade I have to go."

"Nooo, Petey I'm about to drive myself crazy."

{Cof cof!}

[There's a reason why we exist.]

"Okay, crazier."

"I'm sorry baby, but I can't talk when I'm at work and you know it"

"Petey I need youu!"

"Hey breathe, I'll help you pick something when I get there, okay?" Wade whined "And Wade."

"Yeah?"

"Put the clothes back to where they go, please."

{ :O }

[Is he here?]

"How do you...?"

"I know you too well. Love you, bye." And he hung up before Wade could say anything else. Wade looked around, everything was a disaster.

{Ugh, this is gonna be soo boring.}

[Wish we could move things with our mind.]

"That would be SO cool!"

Peter opened the door and before he could get in, Wade pulled him up and hugged him from the waist, placing his head on Peter's chest and a look of panic drawn on his face.

"I'm so glad you're here. I put all the clothes where they were supposed to go, but then I panicked again and took them out, and then I remembered what you said and put them back in, but then..."

"WADE!"

"Okay okay, sorry." He grabbed Peter's hand and dragged him to the room where there were clothes, shoes, hats -and a cat?- all over the place. Peter sighed.

"I should have waited and told you about the dinner later, so you didn't panic all day."

[He does know us.]

{Maybe we are too predictable.}

[If there is something we are not, it is predictable.]

Wade whined and looked at him with puppy eyes. Peter rolled his and smiled.

"Okay, come on, we have to clean this up so I can find something for you to wear. And Wade..."

"Hm?"

"Who is the cat?" Wade jumped and went to get it.

"Right I forgot. While I was being the crazy I am, this little guy was meowing outside the door, and as you know I can't with kitties, I opened and let him in, and since his hair is gray I named him Gandolf, get it?" Peter sighed again.

"You sure he's not from one of your neighbors?"

"I don't know and don't care, look at him Petey, _SO FLUFFYY!_ " Peter chuckled.

"Okay, he IS cute," he came over and touched it. The cat was completely asleep in Wade's arms. "Did you buy food or toys or a bed?" Wade's eyes widened.

"No, I was too busy panicking... Can I go noow?" Peter looked around at the messy room and then back at Wade, whose eyes sparkled with emotion.

"Oh God, fine, go. I'll clean this up." Wade squealed and hugged him.

{We have the best boyfriend.}

[Truly!]

"Thank you, Baby Boy."

"This better be the last time I clean your mess."

{He said that the last time.}

[He always says that.]

"Mhm I promise," he kissed him and ran out the door. Peter turned to the cat, who was in the bed looking at him.

"Oh buddy, you have no idea of the crazy life you're getting into," the cat yawned and Peter laughed, scratching his head.

"Now, where do I start with this mess?"

When Wade returned, he pushed the door and Peter, who was on the couch with Gandolf, playing video games, jumped.

"Honey, I'm hooome."

{I've always wanted to say that.}

[There you go, your dream came true.]

{ -.- I hate you! }

Peter could not see his face, hidden behind the mountain of boxes full of toys, scratchers, food and other cat stuff.

"Oh God" he stayed on the couch while Wade was trying not to let anything fall _'I should help him…'_ He thought, but stayed on the couch. Cleaning the room was enough work for one day.

"Where's Gandolf?"

Peter looked at the cat, who was looking at Wade with big eyes, and laughed.

"I'm gonna leave it all here," and he dropped everything behind the couch. Peter took a deep breath.

"Why do I even try?"

Gandolf jumped off the couch and went to sniff everything Wade bought him. "Go change, I left some clothes on the bed.I will serve some food to the cat while you do," he turned and Wade was sitting on the floor playing with Gandolf, so he just smiled _'Really, why do I even try?'_ and kept playing.

"I'm coming out, ready?" he shouted from behind the bedroom door. Peter was sitting on the couch, so he turned to see.

"Ready." First he pulled out one leg and hummed a sexy song. Peter started to laugh and covered his face.

{Maybe we can have sex before we go to his aunt's house?}

Then he opened the door completely "Ta daa!" He was wearing a red and black plaid shirt, and black skinny jeans with a pair of black vans. Peter clapped and Wade jumped on top of him.

"You look sexy too, Spidey." Peter smiled with a blush. He was wearing some ripped skinny jeans with a grey sweatshirt and white converse.

[So… About that sex?]

"Okay, let's go!" Peter said, and tried to get up, but Wade didn't let him.

"What if she won't like me, Petey? What if she doesn't let me be with you? What if- ?" Peter kissed him.

"She will like you, trust me."

{You can trust everything that comes out of that beautiful face.}

[About that sex…?]

"Can we have five minute sex before we go?" Peter looked at him menacingly, dropped him to the floor, walked to the door and waited there with his arms crossed.

[I guess that's a no.]

They were in front of the door and Peter knocked. Wade was breathing labored.

"Relax, you're gonna have a heart attack before we even go inside."

"I think it happened already."

{Yep, a few minutes ago.}

[Good thing that you can't actually die, or this would've become awkward.]

Before Peter could say anything, his aunt opened the door with a big smile.

"Peter, I'm so happy you came."

"Of course I did," he said and hugged her tightly. "Oh Aunt May, this is Wade, the friend I told you about."

Wade blushed and smiled but he was so scared that the smile came out creepy. Peter chuckled and turned his gaze to the ground.

"It's a pleasure," she said, and held up her hand to greet him. Wade shook it, first very quickly and then slowed down when he saw Peter's eyes.

"Oops!" he laughed nervously "And the pleasure is mine Miss Aunt May, I mean Miss May."

"Okay! why don't we go inside?" Peter said smiling, and when his aunt turned, he looked at Wade with worried eyes.

"Sorry," he whispered and followed.

"You both look very handsome boys," May said as they sat down in the living room.

"Thank you, ma'am!"

"Thanks aunt May!"

"So Wade, what brings you to the United States?" Peter smiled and looked at Wade, he was really enjoying this. Wade glared at him and smiled back at May.

"I wanted to visit my good old friend Petey here, we met at a really wild party, I was the one who was taking care of him." Peter put a strong hand on Wade's knee and squeezed tightly.

{Ouch!}

[Oops!]

"He's kidding," Peter said smiling and Aunt May looked very confused.

"I see." she chuckled "And you're staying in his apartment? That couch is too small for a big guy like you, I always tell him I could help him buy a bigger one, but he will not let me."

{Well, having sex there was amazing.}

Wade blocked every memory before an accident could happen.

"I'm staying in an apartment building, ma'am."

"Oh good!" continued May "Otherwise I would've asked you to stay here, so that you would be more comfortable."

{Aaww!}

[I can see where Spidey got his kindness.]

"Thank you ma'am, you're very kind, but that's not a problem."

"Okay, I'll serve the food now, I bet you're hungry, Peter always is."

{Yes, we have noticed ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° }

[He eats every part of our body all the time.]

"Please stop." Wade whispered.

"Excuse me?" Aunt May turned to look at him, and his entire face turned red.

"He said he can't wait, you know, to try your food," Peter said nervously and Wade nodded desperately. She laughed and returned to the kitchen.

"Do you need help, Aunt May?" Peter asked standing up. For this, Wade took advantage and grabbed his butt, Peter gasped and turned with a glare.

{That actually turns on.}

Wade stood up abruptly as May appeared under the archway of the kitchen entrance smiling.

"That would be great, come on the two of you and help me bring the food to the table."

Dinner went quite well, they shared some of their everyday situations and laughed a lot about it. Wade talked about his fictional job as a plastic surgeon and Peter almost choked on his drink for this. Aunt May was very impressed and interested in every detail. Although many people think that Wade is just a lost cause, he's actually very smart and talked about everything with real knowledge, Peter simply played along.

After lunch they helped Aunt May with the cleaning. Wade was helping her wash the dishes and Peter was cleaning the table.

"So boys, tell me... How long have you been together?" They looked at each other.

"Um, what do you mean?"

"Oh please, Petey, you really can't think I'm naive enough not to realize the way you look at each other." She was smiling.

{I don't get it, is she mad?}

[I don't know!]

They both remained silent, not knowing what to say or do, just looking at each other, and trying to make a good believable story.

"Besides," she continued, "I saw Wade grab your butt." Their eyes opened wide.

"OH MY GOD! I'M SO SORRY ABOUT THAT!"

"That was totally inappropriate!"

"It will never happen again!"

"It was just a joke!"

Aunt May continued to dry the dishes while the other two were doing everything they could to make it look like it was nothing.

"Can I speak now?" They blushed and nodded. "Okay, it makes me mad that you did not tell me before." Peter opened his mouth, but she stopped him immediately. "Don't you dare try to tell me that you are not together, I am old enough to see when there is love. I used to be in love too, remember?" Peter looked down embarrassed "Honey, I'm happy for you and yes, you shouldn't have touched his butt," she turned to Wade, who also looked down.

"I know, I'm sorry!"

"Yes, but don't worry, there was a time when I was young too, and I know what hormones and love can do. Besides, I can't complain if you make my little boy happy." Peter smiled at her and she responded with a wink. "I just wish you had told me before, plus... Australia, really?" They looked at each other and busted out in laugh.

"I'm really sorry, Aunt May, I just didn't know if you'd be okay with it."

"I'm old, but not a monster, honey. As long as you're happy, so am I... And about you young man," she turned to Wade again.

{We're not that young tho.}

[We're actually pretty old.]

{But she's like older, and if we tell her that, it would be like an insult.}

[I think touching her nephew's butt was more than enough.]

Wade stood like a soldier and looked down at her.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Call me May, honey," he nodded. "You better take care of my baby, he's too skinny because even if he doesn't tell me or let me help him, I know he doesn't eat sometimes because of the money." Peter shrugged.

{He's got every pound in dat ass.}

[You tell 'em!]

Wade was very grateful that Peter's aunt couldn't read minds.

"And you'd better not break his heart," she continued. "This kid deserves all the love he can receive," she smiled kindly and he did the same.

"Yes ma'am I mean May, I know that." He looked at Peter who was blushing.

{Who could break his heart?}

[I know, right?]

"In any case, if someone could break someone's heart, that wouldn't be me." Peter smiled with a warm look in his eyes and Wade wanted to hug him more than anything.

{Do it!}

[Let's take this moment to have a group hug!]

"Don't worry, I know him well enough to notice that he would never break your heart," and then she wrapped the two men in her arms.

{Yaay group hug!}

[See, I told you it was a good moment.]

Before entering the apartment, Peter jumped on Wade, who was struggling to open the door with a very horny spider kissing the back of his neck. As they entered, Wade closed the door behind them, and hit his back against it. Now with Peter in the front, his legs wrapped around his waist.

"Let's do something fun."

"Your hormones are going wild, Parker... Not that I'm complaining, of course."

{I can't believe the writer just skipped the whole smut scene.}

[She also skipped the one of the morning sex.]

 _'There was enough smut in the last chapter, I just thought it was too much if I wrote another one of those in this fic.'_

[There's never _'too much'_ smut.]

{You better write that scene NOW, young lady!}

[She's not that young tho.]

{Right... You better write that scene now, OLD lady!}

 _'Hey... Fuck off!'_

The next morning Wade had to go to work for the one he was contacted the day before. He packed everything and was already in his suit, but he couldn't find the mask. So of course, he called Peter (again).

 _*Phone ringing*_

"What now?"

{It breaks my heart when he talks to us like that.}

"Yes I know, I shouldn't be calling," he was on the floor looking under the bed.

[Yet you keep calling.]

"But I really need your help, do you know where my mask is?" Peter sighed on the other line.

"What about inside Gandolf's sandbox?"

{Eeww!}

Wade walked to the sandbox and there it was, buried next to some cat poop.

[Yep, I think we found it.]

"Here it is!" He grabbed it and looked at it in disgust. "Anyway. I'm leaving, I might be at home tonight, if all goes well."

"It will, I'll be waiting. I love you and good luck!"

"I love you too, Petey Pie," he hung up and saw Gandolf looking at him, waiting for his favorite toy "No Gandolf, bad boy this is MY mask!" The cat rubbed against his leg, so Wade lifted him "Fuck it, I can't be mad at you fluffy ball of Satan."

When he returned it was very late, he was tired and his body ached. He opened the door and saw Gandolf sleeping in his little -huge- castle bed. He rubbed his head and headed for the room, where Peter was sleeping, so he tried his best to remain silent. He took a shower, put on some pajama pants and got into bed.

"You're back," Peter said with a very sleepy voice.

{It's totally worth coming home to hear that beautiful sound.}

"Mhm, how are you, baby?"

"Sleepy." Wade laughed

"I can see that," He leaned over and kissed Peter on the cheek, then he laid back down to cuddle him.

"Sorry, I tried to stay awake."

"Don't be, I'm glad you're here."

"How did it go?"

"It was a hard one, but I'm fine now," he said pressing his face against Peter's hair, who remained silent. Wade was about to fall asleep too, when he heard Peter muttering.

"Work sucks," Wade laughed again and kissed him on the head.

"Yeah, it does."

And that way, they both fell asleep almost immediately.

Chapter 6: Wade's depression/anxiety

Chapter Text

Wade acted like he was asleep when Peter woke up to get ready for work. He wanted to reach him and tell him to stay with him, but the boxes were being the worst today, his head and whole body ached and he didn't want Peter to see him like this.

{Like the piece of shit you are.}

[This is not even funny, that poor kid is cursed to kiss you and now he has to see you every day? Wow that's just WRONG!]

{It must hurt to be this worthless.}

[Kill yourself, let's be honest, that would be like making a favor to the world.]

{The worst part is that you'll be back.}

He wanted to, but he had to wait until Peter left to be able to do it, and not just once... He felt a small touch over his shoulder and didn't move, his eyes were shut, trying to act asleep when Peter leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, so gentle it hurt. Wade bit his tongue until Peter left the room. Wade started crying very low until he heard Peter left the apartment.

{Good, now kill yourself!}

[How do you know he will come back?]

{Yeah, I mean think about it, why would he?}

[You're ugly and worthless, he's too good for you men.]

"I know," Wade felt like total shit. He sat on the bed and pressed his knees against his chest.

{Why haven't you killed yourself? It is bad enough that you keep coming back no matter how many times you try.}

"What if he comes back? I don't want him to see me with a shot in the head."

[Didn't you hear us? HE'S NOT COMING BACK!]

{Good for him, he could find so much better than you, maybe right now he's with Jason, who I bet is way better.}

[And not a crazy weirdo like you.]

Without taking any longer he grabbed a gun from his night stand, put it in his head and... At least everything was quiet now.

Peter was at work, trying his best to survive the day before getting home to his big teddy bear. He had to do some paperwork, reveal some pictures, go to class and then home, it wasn't that bad, he could handle it. He texted Wade, who did not respond, which was weird as he always took about five seconds to do so. His boss called (screamed) his name so he rushed to the office. He would call Wade later.

Wade woke up, the boxes would be shut for like an hour before coming back. He stood up and changed the sheets. He still felt like shit, still unsure if his Petey-Pie would come back, since the boxes always play a big part on his depression. He started thinking that maybe it was for good, that Peter actually deserved something better, he was ugly and worthless.

He went to the bathroom without looking at the phone buzzing on the floor.

The day had been long, Peter was going to stay in his apartment tonight, but since Wade didn't answer any call or text, he decided to go to his just to make sure everything was fine. He was worried, Wade never acted like this.

He got into the elevator of the apartments building and felt like an eternity while going up.

Peter stood in front of the door, breathing heavily, he knew something was wrong, yet he didn't know what it was or if it was something he did. He opened the door to a very dark living room/kitchen.

"Wade?" No answer.

He walked to the room, there was no one there either, but the sheets have been changed. He started searching and saw the old ones full of blood in a corner of the room, and felt his whole body getting weak.

"W-Wade?" he opened the bathroom door and there he was with his knees pressed to his chest and his face buried in them, whimpering and rocking. He was alive, but the bathroom looked like a scene from a horror movie.

"Oh no Wade... Why?" He crouched in front of him "Hey baby, are you alright?"  
Wade pulled his head up and looked at him with very tired and sad eyes, and big red bags under them.

"Hey Baby Boy, you did come back." Peter felt his heart tearing apart.

"Of course I did honey, why would you think I wouldn't?"

Wade smiled a little, very tired and with tears in his eyes "Because you deserve so much better and I thought you finally realized, and went back to that Jason guy."

"Oh no, Wade." he sat next to him and hugged the big man, placing Wade's head on his shoulder "I don't deserve better than you because there's no better than you, you're perfect. And Jason? I haven't talked to him since that stupid date. Plus I don't have time to think about him because I'm always thinking about you." he placed a kiss on his bald head "And I will NEVER leave you, do you hear me? Unless one day you get tired of me but only then."

Wade looked at him, his eyes were red and glazed from crying, but he seemed to be genuinely smiling.  
"I would never get tired of you Petey, and I'm... I'm worthless," his eyes went back down but Peter pulled his chin gently to bring him up.

"You are more than worth it and you need to start realizing that, you can't go around killing yourself every time I have to go for a while," then he kissed him, soft and tender "Come on, I need to clean this up so you can take a bath." Peter stood up and helped him do the same.

"You don't need to do that Petey, I'll do it." Wade grabbed a towel and was going to clean when he stumbled and hit the wall.

"Ouch!" Peter ran to his side and helped him stay still.

"Jesus Wade come and sit, I can clean. No biggie." Peter smiled at him, to show he was being serious about that. Then he went to the kitchen for a chair and place it next to the door of the bathroom (because he didn't trust Wade in this state to leave him alone in the kitchen with all those knifes around.)

"Now you sit here while I clean the bathroom, and don't do anything stupid, okay?" Wade looked at him with a little smile on his lips and nodded.

Peter went back to the bathroom and sighed. This was going to take a while, but he didn't want it to last so long because he needed to clean Wade, in order to make him feel better.

He did all the cleaning, from the ceiling to the floor, everything was covered in blood. Peter felt awful by the thought that this was his boyfriends blood, blood he splattered killing himself. Peter shook his head trying to think of something else before he got trapped into an anxiety attack.

When he finished he left the tub filling and went out to see Wade who was crying again. He was so tired and felt kind of useless, but was going to do everything he had in his hands to try and make the love of his live feel better.

"What is it baby? Please tell me so I can help," he went down a little so he could face him.

"Everything, Petey. The healing factor is always fighting the cancerous cells so my body is in a constant flux of healing and killing. Some days are worse, my whole body hurts and the boxes keep saying horrible things."

"What kind of things?"

"I can't tell you, they are too mean to say them out loud... And that's coming from me."

"Is it about me?" Wade looked at him and Peter's heart broke, he looked devastated.

"Yeah... They keep saying you will leave because I'm disgusting." Peter hugged and kissed him all over the body.

"Now you listen to me Wade Winston Wilson, and you too Yellow and White."

{*Gasps* He's talking to us.}

[And he's mad.]

"You need to stop the crap, I love you... The three of you, I guess, since you're all the same person... Anyway I love you, and I won't leave, okay? I'm here and I'm staying, even if I have to handle this every day, I will love you until you let me do it."

{Did he just...?}

[He says he loves us... ME especially!}

{He said Yellow first.}

[That doesn't mean anything.]

{Yes it does!}

[Nope!]

{Yes!}

[No!]

Wade laughed "They are discussing about who you love the most."

Peter smiled, he could finally see some happiness in his eyes. He helped Wade get up and brought him back to the now shiny bathroom, helping him to get inside the tub. Not that he needed that help physically, but all the suport he could give him was necessary, so that Wade could understand how important he is. Wade smiled happily.

"Is that okay?" He nodded.

"It would be even better with you in here, with me." there it was, the man he wanted to see was back. Peter sat on the side of the tub.

"Not now, your body is in pain and if I get in there it wouldn't do any good."

"It would to me." Peter chuckled and Wade smiled at him "I missed you," he said very quiet.

"I'm always missing you," Peter leaned and kissed his nose, Wade wrinkled it and it looked like the cutest thing in the world.

He then started feeling better, grabbing some bubbles and placing them over his head.

"How do I look with my new hair?" Peter laughed.

"You always look good," he said, and Wade raised his hairless eyebrows comically.

When he came out of the tub, Peter helped him get dry, pour some cream all over his body and got him the softest pajamas he had. Then they came to the bedroom, Peter changed his own clothes into pajamas -finally, his working clothes felt heavy at this time- while Wade was getting in bed. Peter tucked him, kissed him on the forehead and crawled into the bed with him, Wade turned to his side and cuddle him.

"Petey can I tell you about my past?"

Peter turned to face Wade and put a hand on his cheek, he was very tired, but if his boyfriend needed to talk, and tell him EVERYTHING, he would even bite his tongue if he felt like sleeping.

"If you want to, I'm more than willing to listen."

Wade nodded and began to speak. He told him everything from the very beginning, from his very handsome face, the cancer and how he joined the Weapon X project with the promise of a cure. To the horrible torture he got there, everything. The way they used him as a doll without feelings, no matter much he screamed. To how his skin became Freddy Krueger's butt and his brain turned into the mentally unstable thing it is now.

Peter listened to every detail. He paid true attention to his boyfriend and his heart was breaking with every word that was coming out of his mouth. Wade has suffered so much and still remains the most amazing human being on earth, and he is blessed to be with him and have the pleasure of loving and being loved by him.

When Wade finished they both remained silent. Wade was hoping that with all this Peter wouldn't run away.

{He probably will.}

[No one listens to something like that and stays.]

Peter looked up at Wade, who was looking at him too, but his eyes seemed worried and Peter understood that his insecurities, and probably the boxes were making him feel bad again.

"Wade..."

"Hm?"

"I won't run away."

{Does he read minds?}

[You shouldn't trust him though.]

"And tell the boxes to stop!"

{Sorry.}

[...]

"I think they did," said Wade in a chuckle and Peter bent to kiss him.

"Good, and about all that, I just... I don't even know what to say... I'm just so, very and truly sorry for all you've been through. I wish it never happened because you deserve every good thing the world can offer you, not the contrary," his voice was shaky and he felt like crying, but fought to stay calm and stay strong for Wade.

"Hey actually I'm glad it happened." Peter looked at him and smiled already knowing what he was going to say "I got to meet you, Baby Boy... And I have every good thing the world can offer me... I got you."

Peter couldn't stop it and some tears ran from the corner of his eyes.

"Aw... That was super rainbow-ish," he said and both broke into laugh until tears, this time from happiness came out.

"I love you, Petey," they kissed.

"I love you more."

"Nah..." They cuddle again and this time, both fell into a very pleasant and needed sleep.

Notes:

If you're actually fighting against depression or anxiety I really do hope you feel better soon, I know how that feels and please know you're not alone, ask for help and keep in mind that one day everything's gonna be fine!

Lots of love! ❤︎

Chapter 7: "It's a trap"

Chapter Text

"Okay, I have to go now"

"Nooo, please stay, fuck your boss! Not literally of course, that perfect body of yours is mine," said Wade pulling Peter as he passed and sitting him on his lap.

"Wade, I seriously have to leave!"

"But whyy? I have enough money for the both of us to survive and then to pay for the funerals." Peter laughed.

{That laugh is like the sound of Zeus orgasms.}

[Because that makes so much sense.]

"I know, but I'm not gonna depend on your money, I like to have my own."

"It is yours," said Wade touching Peter's messy hair as Peter bent down to kiss him.

"I know, but it is not exactly mine, plus your money comes from killing, not my type of money."

"You don't complain when I buy you food." his hand now descended over Peter's spine and the other trembled in response "STAY PLEASE!"

"I caan't," he was going to stand up, but Wade pulled him back down. Peter whined "Wade I mean it, my boss doesn't like me, even less when I'm late."

"Then he can go and fuck himself, don't go!"

{Let's kill his boss!}

[He totally deserves it for treating our Petey-Pie badly.]

Peter leaned and kissed him again, going down slowly to Wade's jaw and biting gently while trailing his neck. Wade groaned.

{Ooh I think we convinced him.}

[And he's hungry too.]

His hands were going down through Wade's chest, slowly. Wade moaned and... Peter stood up.

"Bye honey, I have to go, sorry," and went to the kitchen to take his backpack and the lunch Wade prepared for him to take.

"You can't seriously leave me with the worst case of blue balls in the history of humankind."

"Sorry, it was the only way you would let me go," he grabbed the door knob "Oh and Wade, don't even think about unaliving yourself, I WILL BE BACK, that goes for you too White and Yellow."

[JA, he said my name first, he _SO_ loves me more.]

{Shut up!}

"I left some coloring pencils and a coloring book of Dora the Explorer that I bought yesterday and forgot to give you. It is in the desk of your room, in case you want to paint, love you, bye."

He went out and shut the door behind him, leaving Wade alone with a boner, and two very horny boxes in his head.

{What now?}

[Do you remember that spider porn we saw the other night?]

{I thought you said it was disgusting.}

[Yet delighting.]

"Imagine if Spidey had 8 arms."

{All the possibilities.}

[Handsy time.]

"Okay, but then we'll paint, I love Dora the Explorer."

Peter was going through his phone while walking towards his work, when he bumped against a guy who kept running anyway.

"Don't mind saying sorry... Geez," an old lady came runing to him, gasping for breath.

"Oh young boy, that man just stole my purse." he felt a fury breeze hitting him, this man was giving him a lot of headaches in a single morning.

"Wait here." he started chasing the guy who got into an alley. Peter followed him and watched him turn behind the building, so he also moved on, but when he turned the corner, the guy was standing next to the old lady, both smiling wide.

"What is this?" he asked and the old lady laughed, her form changing to a very big man with fire in his hands, the other removed the hood of the sweatshirt and Peter noticed that his hair was now on fire.

"What the fuck?" Before he could do something the big man hit him and sat on top of him, Peter started to fight, but the other one approached and injected something that burned, Peter screamed and began to feel dizzy.

"Night night, spider." said the big one who was still on top of him.

"Don't worry," said the other one standing above him "We won't kill you... At least not yet." they both laughed and that was the last thing Peter remembered before fainting.

It was late, he had masturbated, painted and played video games and with Gandolf all day, and Peter was not home yet, Wade was starting to get worried.

{Maybe he actually left us.}

[This time he really got tired of us.]

"No, he said he was coming back."

{Yes, but you've been calling him all day and he has not answered.}

[What if he's hurt?]

Wade stood up, feeling very anxious.

[Or even worse... What if he's DEAD?]

"NO, SHUT UP!" He went to his room, in order to put on the suit.

"He's fine, I'll go get him, and then we'll come back and eat pasta, I'll make his favorite"

{Or maybe you will have to eat by yourself, because he's dead}

[*Cries*]

"Shut up, Shut up, SHUT UP!" he pressed his hands against his head and screamed  
"HE'S FINE AND I WILL FIND HIM, SO SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Wade left the apartment and started looking, first he went to his workplace, but it was already closed.

{This is the end!}

[I can't take all this pain!]

Then he searched every roof on which they always patrol, but there was nothing, not even a single sign of him, _NOTHING_.

{Call the police, AMBER ALERT!}

[We should start planning the funeral.]

Wade was starting to panic when someone cleared his throat behind him. Wade jumped and turned to find the Avengers staring at him, Captain America spoke.

"Hello Mr. Wilson I think we need to talk"

Chapter 8: He's my little spider

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Captain America was his favorite superhero, ever since he was a child, he had always admired him, and right now even with the boxes screaming from excitement, all he could feel was fear for his little spider.

"Mr. Wilson." They were inside the Stark Tower.

"Call me Wade."

Captain America glanced at Stark, then nodded.

"Fine... What's your connection with Spider-Man Mr. Wade?"

Wade looked at him wide-eyed and rose very excited.

"You know where he is?"

They crossed looks again and Wade fretted.

"Well actually, we were going to ask you the same thing" Wade sat down again, with his head low and facing his boots.

"Oh..."

"Is he a friend of yours?" This time was Banner the one who speak. Wade nodded.

 _'He's my little spider'_ he thought, but stayed quiet instead.

"He didn't mentioned anything about being followed or something out of the ordinary?" Wade shook his head. Steve sighed and sat in front of him.

"Look I wish I didn't have to say this, but we think Spider-Man was kidnapped"

{*Gasps*}

[But he's a good kid!]

He looked up and saw Steve, who seemed to be really sorry, then Tony Stark, who was away from them and looking down, Banner looked concerned, Thor only nodded and then Hawkeye and Black Widow, who were leaning against a wall but their expressions were difficult to read. His eyes returned to Steve who was still trying to make Wade feel better.

"By whom?"

"We're not sure yet, but we think they're making experiments on them."

[OH NO!]

{What are we waiting for? We need to find him.}

Wade clenched his fists, but could not say a thing, he just wanted to know the details and get out of there as soon as possible.

"Them?"

"He's not the only super human they've kidnapped, so we are sure they are taking them for experimentation and maybe something else."

His fists tighten and he could feel the nails against his skin even with the gloves on.

"A few weeks ago you two fought against some of these experiment results," continued the Captain "some 'mutants' that throw fire, am I correct?" Wade nodded again.

"Well, they were normal humans with a serum inside them that made them that way, they got this serum from the blood of the real mutants they've been abducting"

"However, the serum was not working very well" this time it was Banner the one who speak "Because the reaction left their bodies a few hours after being injected ... So they have been trying to improve it"

{We should've killed those bastards when we had the opportunity.}

[They actually deserved it.]

"But we promised Spidey we wouldn't." He said to Yellow in a whisper.

"Excuse me?" Captain asked, and Wade just shook his head.

"We interrogate some of those you captured," this time it was Black Widow speaking "They concluded by admitting that most of the mutants they experimented with, did not survive."

Wade felt like vomiting and the Captain looked at Natasha with angry eyes, she shrugged.

"He should know what we're facing." she said in a very cold tone.

"I just think there are better ways to say it." Steve prompt scowling.

"Instead of talking so much, we should be looking for these people," said Tony coming closer to the group.

"Yes please," whispered Wade.

"We are doing the best we can." continued Steve.

"Doesn't look like it." Wade was getting angry, Peter could be harm.

{[Or dead]}

 _'NO, stop!'_ and here they were, talking as if nothing was happening out there.

"Are you okay Mr. Wilson?" Banner got closer "Are you experiencing a kind of panic attack?" Wade wanted to scream and kill someone, and find Peter and wrap him in his arms, and never let anything bad happen to him ever again, but all these people kept acting like it was nothing.

{HE MIGHT BE DEAD ALREADY!}

[DEAD DEAD DEAD!]

"SHUT UP!" he pressed his hands against his head again and began to rock. Captain stepped back and Banner actually got closer.

"Mr. Wilson, listen to me, Spider-Man is alright, can you hear me? HE'S FINE!"

"We are going to find the little Spider and all the different humans even if I have to use my thunder" this was Thor trying to console him.

The boxes stayed quiet, so Wade dropped his hands to his sides and looked up, he was crying but thanks to the mask, none of them noticed, and if they did, they were too polite to mention it.

"You don't know where they keep him... Them?" He asked.

"That's the problem... We still have no idea." He could feel his world tearing apart, every part of his body hurt, and his scars burned.

"Can I go now?" He asked, still staring at the floor.

"I'm sorry... Wade, but that can't happen." He looked up to the Captain, who looked down.

{WHAT?}

[How the fuck are we going to find our Spidey if we're in here?]

"You can't keep me in here!" His voice came out angry, he was angry.

"We actually can" responded Black Widow "You being a mercenary means we can keep you as a suspect."

"Excuse me?" He stood up and "A suspect? I would _NEVER_ harm that kid" his voice was shaking along with his body, he had a lot of emotions trapped inside.

"We know that Mr. Wilson" Bruce came closer and was about to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't touch me" said Wade dryly and he stepped back.

"And we understand you're angry, but that's the main reason we can't let you go"

{Fuck off!}

[He must be suffering while they're all here talking.]

"I'm not angry..." everyone turned to him and he lowered his voice "I'm in pain... And being here is not helping."

Bruce now put his hand over his shoulder.

"Something hurting you?" Wade wanted to cry, scream and get out of there because he knew what those bastards could be doing with all those people, with his little spider, but he just stayed quiet. He felt pain all over his body, but that was not the pain he was talking about, so he just shook his head.

"We are doing our best to find them, please stay here, Mr. Wilson, and I assure you that when we find out everything, we will let you know so you can come with us."

"He could ruin the whole operation," shouted Natasha, and Bruce glared her.

"Could you stop?" she rolled her eyes.

"You know I'm right."

"He's my boyfriend..." Wade said very quietly, everyone was silent and looked at him "I need to be there"

They didn't say anything for a long time, they all looked surprised and in shock, except for Clint who was smiling like he already knew.

{I swear that guy is creepy.}

[He knows too much.]

Thor broke the silence as he approached and put a large hand on Wade's shoulder.

"Then let's bring your lover safe and back to your arms, my friend"

Steve smiled and put a hand on his "I promise that we will do everything in our power to save him."

Notes:

"Fear is the path to the dark side, fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate and hate leads to suffering"

Yes, I just totally quoted Star Wars

Until next week ❤

Chapter 9: Time to kick some asses

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It's been a week since Peter was kidnapped and Wade felt as if he too was captive, since the Avengers barely let him out of the stupid room. Sometimes Captain or Banner came to visit him, even Clint from time to time came to tell him that he had come by his apartment to feed and play with the cat.

"I love cats, but don't tell anyone" he told Wade.

But this morning Wade was in an awful mood.

"I mean IT'S BEEN A FUCKING WEEK AND NOTHING?"

{They don't even let us help.}

"Sorry Wade, we can't tell you anything before we're really sure," Captain said the day before.

"We are not sure what you could do if we give you the wrong information," continued Banner.

"What? There's nothing I could do because you're keeping me in here like a prisoner"

"It's for your own good"

"Fuck off, I'm just dying very slowly here doing nothing while my boyfriend is being tortured."

But that was all, no clues, nothing, and here he was, inside a room with only a bed, a bathroom and his stupid boxes who were not helping at all.

{Hey fuck you, you're the stupid one!}

[It's not our fault that you were so useless to let him get capture.]

{If he dies is YOUR fault!}

[It should be you the one being tortured.]

"I wish it would be me," He was sitting in the corner looking at cars and people down in the streets.

{All so happy in this crappy world.}

[Let's get out of here!]

"This is Tony Stark's house, I'm pretty sure there are cameras everywhere."

"You are right Mr. Wilson," said Jarvis "In addition, I would have to close all possible ways of escape."

"Thanks for nothing, Jarvis!"

"You are very welcome," Wade rolled his eyes.

{As if that were an impediment.}

[We all know you could get out of here if you wanted to.]

"Yes, but Captain is right, I could ruin everything."

[Like you always do.]

{Because you're very stupid.}

"I need Petey, he would know how to shut you up stupid boxes."

[Sure, but he's not here because you're a blockhead and let him got kidnaped.]

{Where's a gun when you need it?}

[Yeah, you should totally kill yourself.]

Wade was pressing hard on his head, felt like it was going to explode, when Jarvis spoke again.

"Mr. Stark, Mr. Banner and Miss. Romanoff are here," the door of his room opened and they got in, Wade was scratching his head strongly so Banner came closer.

"You need to breathe."

He heard this in the distance, but tried his best, remembering how Peter always told him to breathe and think of something nice, the only difference being that when Peter said this, Wade didn't have to imagine anything pleasant because Peter was always in front of him, and just looking at him was enough to feel better. But right now Peter was not with him, and Wade felt lost.

"You sure this is a good idea?" asked Tony staring from the other side of the room next to Natasha.

"Yes I'm sure, because I know this will make him feel better, Wade we have good news" He raised his head and looked at Banner who smiled at him. "We know exactly where they are," his eyes opened wide and he wanted to cry, but tried to control himself because otherwise they wouldn't take him with them, so he just smiled and hugged Banner who chuckled. Tony just gave him a small smile and then looked away, a bit uncomfortable.

{That is a hard men.}

[At least he smiled.]

Natasha for the first time showed some excitement and tried to smile, but it was somewhat awkward.

{Well that's new.}

[And weird... Nice, but weird.]

"So, what are we waiting for?" he asked.

"Yeah, about that," Tony came closer "Are you sure you are in a good state to do this? I mean, I know how hard it is to concentrate when the life of someone you love is in danger."

"I've been here for a week waiting for this moment, trust me, even if Jarvis had tried, I could have been out of this place in a second, but I didn't because I knew I would have ruined everything, so yes, I think I'm ready." Banner laughed and looked at Tony who still had his doubts but nodded anyway.

"It's an old Hydra facility used for experimentation, it's underground, that's why it was so hard to find."

Bruce looked at him, the calmer of the other three in the room "If you think you can handle it, we are leaving right now and we would like you to come."

Wade stood up, wiping the white clothes they gave him.

{Yes, like a psychiatric patient.}

"Okay then, let's go!"

They returned him his suit and weapons with the condition that he could not kill anyone.

[Heroes are such a party killers.]

{Or party almost killers since you know, they actually don't.}

They then boarded a private jet and flew to Nevada. During the flight, everything was quiet, everyone was in their own minds, Wade sometimes spoke with his boxes and the others got used to it at some point, they even stopped asking if he was talking to them because the answer was always the same, he shaking his head and pointing his brain.

{This is taking an eternity.}

[I swear Captain is flying slower just to piss us off.]

When they arrived the place was cold and there was a lot of snow but more than that was just an empty space. That until Natasha came with a device in hand and started to hit the ground with her boots. At some point one of the blows rang hollow and she turned.

"Here" they removed the snow and found them. Two large metal doors on the floor. The Captain lifted them and entered, the place barely had light. Through the walls and ceilings there were pipelines, but other than that, it was in complete silence.

"Very quiet to be true" whispered Steve. They came across an intersection with two sides, left or right and it was there, when they heard a scream.

"Okay, time to split" commanded Steve "Banner you come with me and Nat to the left. Tony, you go with Wade and Clint to the right." Tony nodded and they split. The more they got closer, the worse the noise. Machines that sounded like a dentist's office, but louder, shocks of electricity, lashes, a burning smell, screams and laughter.

{Those stupid laughs.}

[It's like a Deja vu.]

Wade felt sick to the stomach of those awful memories, and the fact that Peter had to go through the same, made him feel sicker. They entered a long corridor that connected with others, in which there were rooms. The doors had a small window probably where they passed the food. They were closed, so they approached one and opened the little window. Inside was a teenager, who had wings and was tied to the ground by chains on his feet, he was sitting on the floor with his knees pressed to his chest and one of his wings was burned, the boy was badly damaged.

"He's a mutant," Tony whispered. Clint looked sad and disgusted.

"He's just a kid."

When they were about to open the door, one of the guards appeared, and when he saw them, he ran and began to scream.

"WE HAVE INTRUDERS!" Clint hit the guard with an arrow in his leg and ran to keep him silent, but it was too late, the other guards were already coming.

"Okay, this is it, ready?" Tony asked Wade, who nodded.

{FINALLY!}

[A whole week with a lot of anger trapped inside and nothing or nobody to release it, it's too much.]

"Let's kick some asses!"

The fake mutants came from all the halls, they all had fire on them, just like the ones Peter and he had fought before.

"I don't think the Human Torch would like you to steal his style."

"Who?" asked Tony.

{Right I always forget.}

[Same Universe, different studio properties.]

"Never mind" said Wade and a lot of Human Torch wannabe came over them.

{Just like last time, crush their heads against the walls or floor.}

[But gently.]

One of them stole one of Wade's katanas, set it on fire and cut his leg deep, Wade screamed and turned around with a malevolent smile.

"Big mistake buddy," he took one of his weapons and shot him in the face.

"WADE!" screamed Tony from the other side of the room.

"What? It was self-defense, no worries, won't happen again." Tony gave him a sharp look and Clint laughed.

They had almost all down, so Wade seized the opportunity and dug one into the wall while Tony and Clint were still fighting the others.

"Now you tell me piece of shit, have you seen a spider?" the man gave him a big bloody smile.

"We were about to kill him along the others, they were too weak already," and he began to laugh with a laugh drowned in blood.

"You're disgusting."

{Kill the son of a bitch!}

He was about to when Clint stopped him.

"Go get your boy, we can take care of this" Wade took some deep breaths and let the guard fall to the floor.

"Why?" the guy continued "Is he your boyfriend?" he was still smiling, but not for long, because Wade hit him hard in the face.

"In fact yes, he is." Then he turned to Clint, wiping his hand on his suit "Sorry, I had to."

"I didn't see a thing... Just go!" Clint said, kneeling to handcuff the guy.

While looking for Peter, some agents with a badge of SHIELD passed next to him and began to open the doors to take care of the damaged mutants. Seeing this, Wade did not stop to help anyone and instead kept looking for Peter.

{Our number one priority.}

"At least we know he's not dead."

[Fingers crossed.]

Wade stood in front of a door and opened the window, it was when he saw Peter, chained to a chair in the middle of the room with his head down, almost unconscious. He wore no clothes, only white boxers which were no longer white because of the blood coming from his face and torso. The room was very cold, so Peter was shaking and looked very damaged, burns, bruises and cuts all over his body. Wade opened the door, ran to him and knelt, it was when he saw his face better, his left eye was very swollen and his nose and mouth were bloody. When Peter saw him a smile appeared on his lips, showing bloody teeth (no tooth was missing, which was good ... at least that).

"Hey!" Peter said smiling and then lowering his head, he was in the edge of fainting.

"Hey Baby Boy, hey I need you to stay awake!" Wade reached his face with a hand and touched him gently, Peter whined.

"I know baby, I'm so sorry," his heart was broken and his blood was burning with anger, he needed to put Peter somewhere safe and go kill the shit out of someone.

{They better pay!}

[Fucking bastards.]

He stood up and started looking for something to help free Peter from the chains that had him nailed to that tortuous chair.

"Hey Petey, I need you with me, okay? Come on!"

"Mhm," It was all he heard him say before finding a bolt cutter inside a bag with other tools, which the bastards were probably going to use before they showed up. Then he hurried back to the chair.

"I'm gonna take you somewhere safe, okay? Don't worry." when Wade cut off one of the chain links that held Peter's arms back, it made him scream.

"Fuck... I'm so, so sorry baby," and kept going, despite Peter's complains, it was the only way to release him, even if he felt like shit every time he made a cut.

{You're hurting him.}

"It is the only way."

[Then hurry, I'm pretty sure his shoulder is broken.]

"I know."

When he finally released his arms, Peter could not stay in the chair and was about to hit the ground, so Wade ran and helped him to stay still, placing Peter's head on his shoulder.

"Now the one on your feet Petey, then we'll finish and I'll take you home, okay?" he mumbled an answer that Wade didn't understand, so he started cutting the other chains "Hey, I met Captain America." Peter seemed to smile and he felt less like shit "I bet you would like him, he's a great guy."

These were easier to cut because Peter was more unconscious than anything else and barely made any sound, so Wade cut everything faster. Once finished, he lifted Peter in his arms, bridal style and the boy snuggled against his chest.

{My heart is in pieces.}

[He looks so vulnerable.]

Wade left the room and saw Clint, who fired an arrow at a guy coming from behind, then he ran to meet them.

"How is he?" he asked concerned.

Wade didn't answer, felt that if he did, his voice would be unstable by anger and sadness. Clint could see that, so he nodded and put a hand on Wade's shoulder, then kept his way down the hall. He continued to find the other Avengers on his way out, everyone was looking at him with a nervous look, the look in Wade's eyes was pure anger, so none of them said anything.

When he came out, there were four black vans bearing the S.H.E.L.D logo, someone opened the back door of one and motioned for Peter to be put on the stretcher.

"Don't worry, we'll take care of him," said a women taking out an emergency kit and putting on a mask.

Wade looked at Peter who had his eyes closed and was not sure if leaving him alone with these people would be a good idea, but then Natasha came out of the metal doors and waved.

"We have the leader!"

Wade looked back at Peter and then at the people inside the car, who were really trying to help. They closed the van door before he could say anything, so he ran back to Natasha.

"Don't worry, they are good people and will take good care of him." Wade simply nodded, he really just wanted to end this whole nightmare and be back home with his boyfriend and hug him and let him know that everything would be all right now. But he also wanted to beat the shit of whoever took him away from him.

"The guy is from a new Weapon X project," she explained as they walked down the aisles. Wade swallowed.

{*Gasp* A new Weapon X?}

[That poor kid.]

"We believe that he is the head of the new organization and it seems that he wanted to make more mutants, but the kind he could control" Every time they passed through a room there were some agents of SHIELD helping a seriously injured mutant.

"They also ravished children." said Wade aghast.

Nat nodded "They wanted any type of mutant that could help them with the experiment."

They stopped in front of a large door, which Nat pushed. Inside were all the Avengers, even Banner, now in his human form, and in front of a fireplace, sitting in a large chair, was a boy.

{How old is he? Fifteen?}

[Who cares? Let's beat the shit out of this trash.]

"This is Doug Dembrant, he's nineteen years old and he's the head of the whole operation." Tony said with much anger in his voice. Wade could see the muscles of his jaw tensed with each word.

The stupid boy looked at him and smiled.

"Hi!" he said and Wade couldn't help it, when he reacted he was already on Doug, beating him non-stop. The stupid boy continued to smile with each punch before the whole group of Avengers could take Wade away from him.

"Please, breathe or I'll have to take you out," said Steve standing in the middle of Wade and the stupid asshole who was just starting to get up, he was laughing "I can only imagine what you're feeling, trust me, I want to kill him too, but we need him alive in case this is bigger."

Wade had tears running through his mask, and wished he could act with more composure, but he kept remembering Peter's bloody face and every muscle in his body tightened, so he just looked away.

"Everything was going according to the plan" he heard Doug saying from behind, so Steve turned to face him "We were not going to kill them… At least not yet" he laughed and chocked with the blood "It was just an experiment."

{And this fucking prick even has the courage to talk.}

[He needs to die, a slow and painful death.]

Steve put an arm in front of Wade before he could do something stupid. Wade just looked at him angrily and stepped back.

"You only stop us because you don't want others to be like you."

"No kid, we stop you because you are hurting other people in the process," Banner said trying to breathe before he could get green (literally) from anger.

"Who cares? They are not people, they're just mutants."

{KILL HIM!}

[Fucking asshole!]

Steve's arm tightened more on his chest and Wade felt like he was going to break it by trying to stop him from hitting (again) the fucking shit in front of them.

Clint pulled out some handcuffs and placed them on the boy's wrists, before pulling him out of the room. Wade could feel his heavy breathing, but then he remembered Peter and ran back to the car, but he was gone. Wade was beginning to feel very anxious when a hand touched his shoulder, and he jumped.

"Hey hey, it's okay, your boy is on that helicopter" it was Natasha "They will take him along with other mutants to the Stark Tower to treat them in the lab" she was really trying to smile.

{Oh well, at least she's trying.}

[Still creepy though.]

He thanked her and ran to the chopper. They let him in, so he sat next to Peter's stretcher and took his hand with one of his, and with the other touched his hair.

{Our poor little spider.}

[Look at him, so calm.]

Peter had oxygen attached to a mask and was sleeping. He looked calm and even happy, he seemed to know that he was safe now.

"I missed you," Wade whispered when the chopper took fly.

Notes:

See you next Monday!

(I have no idea who Doug Dembrant is, lol sorry, it was just the first thing that came to mind)

PS. Sorry about the many grammatical mistakes this Chapter may have, I'll try to fix them at some point!

Chapter 10: Good news

Summary:

I feel like Ben in Parks and Rec when he read his Star Trek fics to April and she wanted to kill him :'D

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

After three days at the hospital, Peter was discharged, as he was healing quickly (not as fast as Wade, but still) they thought he would be better at home, especially because Wade was always by his side and basically driving everyone crazy.

He still had some deep cuts here and there, and some broken ribs, but for everything else he was fine, Wade insisted on bringing him home in a wheelchair, no matter how much Peter insisted he could walk.

{Like the stubborn he is.}

Wade was opening the door and cleared his throat "I cleaned" he said and Peter smiled.

"Thank you!" Wade opened the door and took the wheelchair with him to enter.

Everything was shining and Peter couldn't help another smile, Gandolf came to rub against his leg.

"Hey boy!"

"Let me help you with that," Wade said raising the cat and putting it in Peter's lap, he scratched his head.

"See, even Gandolf missed you and we both know that he is not one who loves others."

"I missed him too," said Peter raising the cat up to kiss him.

{Ask him.}

[Do it now that he's happy.]

"Yeah yeah okay, be patient, Petey... Um...Can I ask you something? It's more like a proposition, not like to marry me or anything like that, unless you want that because you know I totally would and…"

"Wade," said Peter laughing " _Breathe!_ "

He smiled because finally he wasn't lost anymore and breathing was an easy task, so he did.

"Okay, so… Why don't you come and live with us?" He leaned to face him "You wouldn't have to pay more rent or basically anything else." Peter smiled and touched his cheek gently.

"Well, it's like I already live here since I spend most of the time and have almost all my stuff here, but I like to have my own place for when you drive me crazy."

{HA he's got a point.}

[We do that a lot.]

"But I'll think about it." Wade smiled, gave him a chaste kiss, and stayed there touching foreheads, he really missed the boy in front of him, loosing him almost killed him. He sat on the floor in front of the wheelchair, Gandolf got the point so he left, Wade put one arm in Peter's lap and with the other began to make circles on his thigh.

"They took you away from me Petey, for a whole week I was on Tony's Tower dying slowly by the thought of you being tortured... Or dead." Peter put a hand on his cheek and Wade bowed his head against the touch.

"I am here now, see I told you it's not that easy to get rid of me," he chuckled and Wade half smiled, his heart was still in pieces "Hey!" Peter cupped his face with both hands and lift him "I'm not going anywhere, remember?"

"I felt that my whole world ended Petey and the fact that I can't even die was worse because I didn't want to live in a world where you were not." Wade had tears in his eyes and Peter kissed him while cleaning them gently.

"Don't think about that anymore, okay? I'm here now." Wade put his head in Peter's lap and he began to trace the scars with his fingers "But Wade... If it ever happens."

"No Petey, please don't!" he looked at him crying.

"I need to say this," Wade looked down and Peter continued "I want you to try to be happy please, none of us can see the future, but if something happens, please try"

Wade shook his head and Peter kept going "Wade..." He looked up sniffing "You've given me the best life I can ask for, and that's what I want you to have in mind, okay?"

"I don't want to live without you and you can't blame me for it" Peter smiled and kissed his forehead.

"I don't, I wouldn't want that either, but I'm just saying" Wade stood up and bent to kiss him.

"Do you know that the part of the brain that reacts to love is the same that reacts to aggression? That is why sometimes we feel the desire to squeeze cute things." Peter smiled "Too bad your ribs are broken and almost everything in you is damaged or I would be squeezing you right now," he laughed with some _'Ouchs'_ in between and Wade kissed him again.

"That was pretty nerd."

"Just how you like it."

 _~*~ THREE DAYS LATER ~*~_

Peter was sitting on the other side of the sofa staring at the bedroom door with Gandolf on the other side. He was wearing a NASA t-shirt, a pair of sweatpants and a red and blue tutu that Wade made for him, obviously, he made one for him as well.

"Okay, ready?" asked Wade from behind the door.

"Yes"

"Okay…" and jumped out of the room with a red and black tutu, Peter clapped and whistled, Wade jumped on the couch and leaned over Peter, very gently as his ribs were not yet ready.

"You know, I read an article yesterday about how to have sex with someone with broken ribs, we could try that." Peter laughed.

{We actually didn't read the article.}

[But we saw the pictures and that's what it matters.]

They kissed, very long and full of love, Wade wanted to hug him and kiss him forever, not let him go so nothing bad could happen to him again, because he knows Peter feels safe with him, and that's all he wants. While they were like this, there was a knock on the door.

"Let's ignore that," mumbled Wade kissing Peter's neck, who chuckled. There was another knock.

"I think this is important, Wade."

"Ugh fine!" he stood up and shuffled to the door, which he opened annoyed, it was Tony and Steve.

"Heya guys, now it's not a good time!"

"WADE!" screamed Peter from the couch and he rolled his eyes.

"Fine, fine, come on in please!"

"Thank you Wade, what a nice place you have here!" said Steve with a big smile.

He led them into the living room, Tony sat on the single sofa and Steve in the large one with Peter.

"Hey kiddo, how you feeling?" asked Tony.

"Better, Wade helps a lot," Wade sat next to Peter and straightened his tutu, being followed by an awkward silence.

{Hey stupid, where are your manners?}

[Yeah, at least offer them something to drink.]

"Oh right, I'll bring something to drink," before any of them could answer, he flashed to the kitchen.

Iron Man was now looking all frowned at Peter's tutu, and he blushed.

"Sorry, he likes to sew and I have to wear at least once everything he does for me, just to make him happy" since this is Wade they're talking about, Tony shrugged and Captain just laughed.

"It's okay, it suits you." said Steve laughing, Peter kept the blush and smiled.

Wade came back with four little boxes of juice in his hands, and gave one to each person, Tony looked confused when he gave him his, Captain thanked him and Peter smiled, then he sat again between Peter and Steve and began drinking his own.

"Um... Anyway," said Tony leaving the box in the coffee table "We are here because..."

"We want you both to be part of the Avengers," finished Cap. Peter's eyes opened wide and Wade stopped drinking his juice.

{Is this a dream?}

[Maybe one of those wet ones we always have about having an orgy with The Avengers.]

{Where's Hulk then?}

"Why you always do that?" Tony asked very annoyed "Why couldn't you just simply let me give the good news, huh?"

"Because I couldn't resist."

"It's always the same Steve!"

"Sorry..." Then he turned to them "Not really"

[They are like a married couple.]

{I keep asking myself, where's Hulk?}

They kept arguing as Wade turned to Peter who was as surprised as he was, but then a very broad smile appeared on his lips and Wade mimicked him.

"What do you think?" Wade asked, whispering.

"I think it's time you quit the mercenary life and work for the good guys." They both laughed and Steve and Tony looked at them, they looked genuinely happy and Steve felt a warm feeling in his heart, Tony just smiled.

"So... What is it going to be? Yes or no?" Tony asked, Wade and Peter exchanged glances, then Wade turned to them.

"Yeah sure, why not? But... Petey can't fight yet, his ribs are still kind of broken," they all laughed and Peter hugged him.

"Do not worry, that could mean he'll have to do the paperwork for both of you, while you're out there fighting with us."

Wade looked at him excitedly and Peter rolled his eyes "Yeah fine, anything for you." a squeeze came from Wade's mouth as he jumped off the couch to hug both men, Peter just laughed at how uncomfortable Tony looked.

After talking for a while, they stood up and shook hands with Peter, who stayed on the couch mainly because Wade would not let him get up. Wade led them to the door, said his goodbye's and closed it, returning to the sofa where Peter told him to lie down, so he did, very softly, letting Peter hug him. Gandolf took advantage and jumped into his lap.

"I can't believe we are Avengers now," Peter said with an excited tone, which made Wade smile.

"I always knew you were going to become an Avengie, but I never thought I would have a chance… That means I'll get to see Captain's ass everyday" Peter hit him gently in the shoulder "I'm kidding, no one will beat yours."

{We are still watching it tho.}

[Every day.]

"Maybe Black Widow could train you and you will have to be very careful not to let her eat your head."

"Those are the praying mantis Wade, but yeah, I got the point."

"Hey" Wade turned to face him "Let's celebrate with tacos." Peter smiled and nodded, but before Wade could get up to ask for some express, Peter grabbed his face and gave him a passionate kiss on the lips.

"I love you, Wade Wilson." Wade smiled broadly.

"And I love you too, Petey Parker."

Notes:

Should I keep going? Be honest with me people

(Try not to be mean in the process haha)

Anyway may the force be with you sexy friends!

Chapter 11: Don't be possessive *

Summary:

I decided to write Clint sort of a best friend to Wade, because… He will need one.

(And yes I am aware of the existence of Weasel, but I just wanted this two to be a thing and Weasel can wait haha)

PS. "*Sign Language*"

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Since the accident Peter has been avoiding everything that has to do with the kidnapping, Wade doesn't push him, he knows that at some point he will tell… It has also been since the accident, that they haven't had any sex…

Wade was sitting on the couch playing video games when Peter appeared with some boxers with Deadpool's face in the front. Since he was playing, Wade barely noticed, so Peter cleared his throat.

"Just a second Baby Boy, I'm about to kill this big slug that's trying to eat a kitten." Peter rolled his eyes, but actually turned to watch the game, because nothing Wade just said made any sense. He stood in front of the television and bowed his head, Wade's jaw dropped.

{Fuck this game!}

[We can save that kitten any other day.]

"You'd better come here, right now." snarled Wade, and Peter smiled playfully.

"I thought you were playing, that cat could die and it would be all your fault," he said in a worried voice before smiling again.

"Peter Benjamin Parker, I'm being serious."

"Oh me too… Totally."

{This kid is going to kill us.}

"Okay, I get it, you're torturing me, trust me, it's working." Peter laughed.

"Good," and started going.

"Wh-What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Wade flashed to the other side of the couch, grabbed Peter by the waist and pulled him toward the sofa and over him. Peter laughed.

"You're mean, Spider," Wade grunted and began to kiss his neck.

"Wade…" he said almost moaning.

"I love when you say my name like that." Peter laughed again.

"I need to ask you something."

"Hm?" Wade put a hand under Peter's boxers.

"Ah-Ah _fuck_ … I can't ask you this if… _Shit_ … If you keep doing that - _Oh_!"

"Perfect, let's fuck and then we can talk."

"No, I really need to… _Wade jesus!_ " Wade smiled against Peter's neck.

"You sure you want me to stop, Petey?"

"I… _Aahh_ … Just a second pl- _Oh God_ … Please."

"Petey you can ask me later, let me have some fun ... It's been a while, you know," and licked his long neck, Peter moaned, and before Wade could do anything else, he grabbed his hand under the boxers.

"I invited a friend over to spend the night here…" Wade looked at him with an expression that Peter knew very well.

[Angry/Jealousy/TheDesireToKillSomeone.]

"Come on, it's just a friend."

{This is not good.}

[All this sexy act was just to distract us.]

{It totally worked, tho.}

"Please, this one is a good one."

"A _good one,_ huh?" Wade looked away and clenched his jaws.

"Wade..."

"Hm?"

"Look at me." He did, but only for a second before looking back the other way. Peter laughed again "His name is Matthew Murdock."

"I don't ca... Daredevil, seriously?" Now he was looking at him.

"See, you know him, he's nice."

{Yes we know him, with more reason he shouldn't come.}

[That bitch is a combination of Brad Pitt with a freaking angel.]

"HE'S FUCKING HANDSOME!"

"WADE!"

"What?"

"Breathe!"

"I'll pay him a hotel if you want, but don't do this to me"

"Breathe!" he looked away and did as he was told "Good... Now, as I said, it's JUST A FRIEND, and he wanted to stay in a hotel, but it was me who insisted that he stay here."

"You can't hate me that much." Peter chuckled "I'm serious, Petey, if you'd told me that The Mole was coming, I COULD have said yes, but freaking Daredevil, really?" Peter kissed him.

"Don't be possessive."

"I'm not..." Peter raised an eyebrow and smiled "FINE I am, but you can't blame me, look at you, anyone could try to steal you from me." Peter laughed again and hugged him.

"I'm with you because I love YOU, so stop, besides you are very handsome yourself."

Wade looked away again, as he always does when Peter tries to convince him of something, because he knows that just looking at his face is more than enough to be tempted. The worst thing is that Peter is very aware of this, so he always takes advantage. He sat on Wade's lap with his ass pressing into his crotch. Wade was really trying not to look at him. Peter started to move his butt against him and Wade made a muffled sound. Peter laughed.

"So… He's actually on his way now."

" _PETER!_ " Wade looked at him and Peter leaned his head back, looking at him straight in the eye.

{NOO!}

[Not that look!]

{Those fucking eyes could melt the iceberg that sank the Titanic.}

"Don't do that, that's cheating," Peter smiled and went back to moving his butt "Mmm, Petey!"

"Doesn't seem like cheating when the other person is having such a good time."

"You're killing me." Peter turned to look at him, then kissed him and began to move again "Fuck…"

"So… About that friend."

"Don't!" he moved faster " _Oh_ … Damn it!"

"What was that baby?" he licked Wade's neck.

"Fuck… Spidey you're mean," Peter looked at him, pressed his forehead against his and bit his lip slowly with a playful look "Aw Fuck…"

"Wade…"

"Hm?"

"Say yes or I'll get up and leave you all by yourself with that hard friend of yours." Wade looked at him in shock.

{He's mean.}

[That was fucking hot!]

"Oh yeah?" he gripped Peter's waist, pulled him closer and now he was the one thrusting his hips.

" _Oh_ … Ah Wade… That's not fair." He began to bite the body of the young man and Peter moaned before pushing him against the couch pulling his arms over his head and holding them with his spider strength. Then he leaned over his face with all his messy hair falling to the sides of his face and smiled "You're not going to win this."

"You sure? I can still move my hips from this position," and he did. Peter pressed his forehead against his with a loud gasp.

{This view is fucking good.}

[I won't argue.]

He let one hand grip Wade on the couch and with the other he reached out to one of his web shooters, groaning and moaning, he put it on and fired a web at Wade's wrists.

"Naughty Spider." Peter smiled and started to lower his boxers, still with his forehead against Wade's "Oh baby you're willing to win, aren't ya?" then he lowered Wade's pants, grabbed his dick and put it inside him. "Geez Petey, you planed all this- _fuck_ -didn't you? You're already open and… _Shit_." Peter smiled and began to move up and down, along with some gasps and moans against Wade's face, who was more than delighted.

{I swear this is the best view.}

[Again… Won't argue.]

"Wade…"

"Not now Petey- _Mmm_ … You can't be that- _Fuck_ …That mean." Peter smiled and leaned to kiss him.

"Please say yes." Then he moved faster and Wade pulled his head back, so Peter took advantage and kissed his neck.

"You're a demon!"

"Good for you, you're having sex with a demon," he smiled again and Wade came with a deep groan.

Peter removed the webs from his wrists, and pulling out of Wade, he looked down at him.

{He's not over with the torture.}

[I love this torture.]

"Don't look at me with those eyes."

"Please…?" Wade rolled his and now was too tired to argue.

{He totally did this on purpose!}

[I'm not complaining.]

"Fine… Whatever." Peter smiled and kissed him.

"Okay, but promise me you won't act like an asshole." Wade rolled his eyes again and pressed Peter to his chest in a hug.

"I can't promise anything."

"Wade!"

"Fine okay, I'll try my best." Peter smiled and kissed him on the chest.

"Thank you, you're the best," he tried to stand, but Wade kept pressing him against his chest "Um, Wade…"

"Just stay a little longer before that asshole comes to steal my happiness." Peter laughed and hugged him back.

When Matt knocked on the door Wade was back with his video game and Peter was reading a book next to him. They both turned to the door and then looked at each other, Peter smiled nervously and Wade half smiled, then they both ran to the door trying for the other not to reach it.

"Wade you promised."

"I just want to open the door and say hi."

"Yeah right." Wade grabbed him by the waist and pulled him over his shoulder "Seriously? You're gonna open the door with me on your shoulder like a sack of potatoes?"

"Like a sexy sack of potatoes, plus, he's blind," and he opened the door with a big hypocritical smile on his face, Matt laughed.

"Hi Wade, Why are you lifting Peter like a sack of potatoes?"

{How does he do that?}

[I don't know, I've always believe he's hella creepy.]

Peter looked at Wade angrily, so he let him down, then he turned and hugged Matt. Wade looked away, his jaw tightening.

{He just arrived and it's already over him.}

[I seriously believe he says he's blind, but maybe it's all a lie.]

"It is so good to see you again, Peter!" and hugged him back, Wade was losing it "How has everything been since..?"

"Oh it's good," this was Peter avoiding the topic as he has been doing in recent weeks "Come on in, please."

"I was very happy when I heard about you again." continued Matt about to grab his bags.

"Let me help you with that _buddy_." Wade intervened, trying not to sound too hypocritical, Peter let Matt go and turned around, smiling at Wade.

"Thank you Wade, it is good to see you too" Matt said and Wade smiled before he remembered that he is blind.

[I still don't believe that.]

"Yeah, it's been a while, Matt." he turned and put his things beside the sofa where Peter and Matt sat, he of course was not going to leave them alone, so he did the same and put an arm on Peter's shoulders.

"Didn't know you knew each other" said Peter.

"Yeah," Matt laughed "I had to stop him from killing a guy."

"He totally deserved it," mumbled Wade between his teeth.

{Look at the way he looks at him.}

[Fuck he even laughs at his jokes.]

 _'Well that's not bad.'_

{Whatever man, when he steals him, we will be having another conversation.}

[DID HE JUST TOUCH HIM?]

Matt put a hand on Peter's thigh while they were both laughing.

"OKAY!" Wade stood abruptly and they both looked at him. "I have to go to the bathroom, excuse me."

[You're gonna leave them alone?]

He quickly walked to the bathroom, closed the door and video called the only person who would listen with patience.

{Apart from Peter, of course.}

"Hey man, what's up?" asked Clint from the screen, he was in the car.

"I need your help, I'm about to commit murder."

"Wait what?"

"Peter brought a _friend_ home" making a vomiting face when he said 'friend'.

"OH GOD WADE, don't scare me like that!"

During Peter's kidnap and Wade staying in the Stark Tower, Clint and Wade developed a friendship which none thought it would be possible, even less Clint, but found himself at ease with the crazy merc and became closer even after Peter had returned. They still talked almost every day.

"I'm being serious."

"The worst part is that I know you are... You need help man."

"Why do you think I'm calling you?"

"Okay okay, I'm coming over, where are you?"

"The bathroom."

"Good, stay there." he hung up and Wade entered the empty bathtub.

Peter was talking with Matt when someone knocked on the door. He looked at it confused, they were not expecting another person "Wait here, Matt" got up and went to open the door, it was Clint.

"Hey Clint, good to see you, Wade didn't mention you were... Oh!" he changed his smile to a serious look and rolled his eyes "Of course he did... He's in the bathroom"

"Thanks Petey!" Clint said coming in and stopping when he saw Matt "Oh... I get it now," and turned to Peter, who smiled awkwardly and shrugged.

"Hey Clint, nice to see... Well to greet you again." Matt joked and everyone laughed. Matt got up and Clint hugged him. "Now, can anyone explain to me what it is that everyone understands, and why Wade's heart is rising like crazy?" Clint and Peter looked at each other and laughed.

"Do not worry, Wade is fine."

"Yeah man is nothing, I'm gonna be heading to the bathroom now, excuse me" Clint said, leaving the room. Peter sighed and sat down on the couch with Matt.

Clint grabbed the bathroom key that was hanging over the door and opened it, Wade was in the empty tub swinging with his hoodie on, then looked at Clint and smiled.

"You need help man," Clint said when Wade ran out of the tub to hug him.

"Thanks for coming, I'm going insane... Well insaner"

"Wade that's Matt, he's like the nicest guy."

"I asked you to come to be on my side, not his."

"Fine, let's go, I don't think you want to stay here," Wade shook his head "Plus, I'm pretty sure he can hear us from the living room" Clint whispered.

"I can" screamed Matt, and Clint looked at Wade with wide eyes.

[I'm telling you people, he's creepy as fuck.]

Now Clint began to speak in signs to prevent any accident.

{Yes, Clint is deaf.}

[Pretty sure the readers already know, but just in case, read Hawkeye comic #19 for reference.]

{Only if you know sign language, otherwise you won't understand a thing.}

[Oh and we are smart as fuck and know like every fucking language, including sign.]

"*I have never understood how he do that*"

"*I know, he is super weird… Though maybe that's why you have that super hawk vision of yours*" Clint thought about it and shrugged.

"*Anyway, come with me, I was on my way to something and I'm not planning on losing it because of you*" He grabbed Wade's wrist and dragged him into the living room. "Hey Petey I'm taking this one with me, okay?" he nodded.

"Sorry Matt, it's not you," tried to explain Wade "It's just… You" Peter glared him and Clint chuckled.

"Um… Okay Wade, have a nice day!" said Matt smiling wide.

[Creeeepy.]

{I have to admit, I'm with you in this one.}

They left, closed the door behind them and entered the elevator, Clint began to laugh as soon as the doors closed.

"I don't know how that kid can handle you."

"Hey, you can handle me pretty well."

"Yeah, but I'm not your boyfriend."

They passed the reception where Wade said goodbye to the doorman, then they got into Clint's car and he looked at Wade with a raised eyebrow.

"*What?*" Clint kept the stare "*Come on, I can't die anyway.*"

"*I don't care, seat belt, now!*" Wade groaned and put the seat belt giving Clint a look "*Good boy*" he said and started driving.

"How's Peter? Seems fine, but I guess we're good at disguising our feelings"

"He doesn't talk about it" Wade was trying to be patient with that, he knew Peter would talk to him at some point like Wade did with him, he just needed time "Where are we going anyway?" Clint stayed quiet "Hello?"

"Well, since you're kind of a best friend to me… Don't get emotional Wade" Wade was looking at him with puppy eyes.

{OH MY GOD, THAT WAS SO CUTE!}

[I always knew he loved us.]

"You're so cute bestie."

"Stop it!"

"We should tattoo our names."

"Wade stop!" Wade laughed and put his feet on the dashboard.

"Okay, where are we going, a gay bar?" Clint looked at him confused.

"What? No!"

"Well since you were being so opened I just thought that was part of it." Clint chuckled.

"You're an asshole."

"You love this asshole," and threw a kiss at him.

"I'm more into boobs, but thank you" Wade laughed "Anyway, I'm going to tell you about one of my guilty pleasures and you better stay quiet about this" Wade sat straight.

"Masochism? Two girls one cup? Spider porn?"

"Eeww Wade shut the fuck up… I only saw half of that filthy video because you made me do it and I almost threw up."

"Yeah even I have to admit that's a gross one."

"And spider porn, seriously?"

{The best there is.}

[Eight arms, eight possibilities.]

"Hey don't change the subject." Clint laughed and took a deep breath.

"Okay… I do yoga." Wade bursted in laugh until his eyes had tears "Hey is better than Spider porn."

"Shut up, you've never seen that, and yoga? Come on!"

"An ex-girlfriend was the one who took me to a class and since then I keep going, not to the same place because you know, it would be totally awkward."

"That's like the cheesiest thing ever, and that's coming from a guy who makes pancakes with forms every morning for his boyfriend."

"Oh yeah? Let's see how much you laugh when we get there and you actually enjoy it."

They came to the place which was like a big gym / spa, Wade was a bit impressed, but was not going to admit it. They entered, and a blonde girl received them with a big smile.

"Mr. Barton it's great to see you back." Wade chuckled and Clint hit him with an elbow "Please come on in, we have a great class today" Clint nodded smiling at the girl and walked Wade into the locker room.

"*I can see why you like it, that girl was fine*"

"*Stop it, you have a cute boyfriend, leave those to me*"

"*Do I need yoga pants or something?*"

"*No, sweatpants are fine*" Clint put on his own yoga pants and Wade snorted "Leave me alone Wade, this are more comfy"

{Comfy? Geez.}

[We need to take a picture.]

"Stop now… Oh God, this is priceless."

"Do you want to go back to your boyfriend sucking Matt?" Wade stopped laughing and looked at him with a menacing glance "JA Checkmate!" and winked at Wade.

They left everything in Clint's locker and headed to the room where the class was about to begin.

"Grab a mat" Wade did it and stretched them on the floor before sitting on them. A girl turned to look at Wade with a disgusted look.

{Shit, you should have brought the mask.}

[Now she's going to have nightmares.]

"Hey, did you miss something?" asked Clint to the girl who glared him and turned.

"*Thanks*"

"*No problem, don't mind her, okay?*" Wade nodded and pulled the hoodie up anyway. The teacher came in and Wade noticed that she had scars in half her body, he turned at Clint who winked and smiled.

"Good afternoon class, are you all ready?" she looked at Wade, as if studying him "You're new, it's a pleasure, my name is Debra, and I'm the teacher, I hope to see more of you around here, Clint is a great student," she then smiled and returned to the front.

"*Does that mean you're flexible?*" Wade asked and gave him a playful look, Clint punched him.

"Okay class, first the Downward Facing Dog" Wade looked at Clint with an expression of 'WTF?' he laughed and flipped the middle figer, before taking the pose, Wade followed.

After a while Wade was actually getting relaxed, this was good, he kind of needed this after everything with Peter, but he wasn't going to admit it.

{We should bring Peter to yoga, he's super flexible.}

[Imagine him doing all this poses.]

{With dat ass pumping out.}

[And his back arching.]

Wade sat abruptly on the mattress and put his hands on his sweatpants.

"Clint..."

"What?" The other was still in pose.

"I think I better say this in sign language, look at me," so he did "*I think I'm hard.*"

Clint looked at him with an expression that said, 'Are you fucking kidding me?' "*I know I'm sorry, it's the boxes' fault, they started talking about Peter coming to yoga and…*"

"*Shut up, I really don't want to know*" Wade grinned awkwardly and the teacher approached, Wade's eyes widened and he looked at Clint asking for help, the other just shrugged and chuckled.

"Everything okay, sir?" Wade nodded "You sure?" He nodded again and she bent to whisper in his ear "It's okay, there's a bathroom right there" Wade blushed and she returned to the front, Clint couldn't stop laughing.

After yoga they got into the hot tubs where Wade fell asleep and Clint had to wake him up because the place was already closing.

"So, admit it, you liked it." Clint challenged once they were in the car. Wade turned to the window, trying not to smile "JA I knew it!"

"FINE, it was… Okay"

{It was amazing actually.}

[Our skin feels like a baby's butt and that's like, impossible.]

"Yeah right, I bet you will beg me to bring you back next week."

"You come every week?"

"Mhm."

"… I wouldn't mind coming back," Clint laughed.

"Man you are so doomed now."

When they were about to open the door of the apartment, Wade felt so good that he didn't mind the laughter coming from inside, that until they opened the door.

{WHAT IS HIS ARM DOING AROUND OUR PETEY'S SHOULDERS?}

[That bastard!]

"Fuck yoga, I'm going to kill him!" before he could get inside Clint put an arm in front of him.

"*How about we go to that gay bar?*" and laughed nervously.

Notes:

I just thought it was necessary for Wade to relax a little. I promise there will be a talk on the next chapter.

Btw I won't be posting this Monday ( :/ work stuff)

But still

❤︎ ❤︎

Chapter 12: Mercenary Mission

Summary:

Lazy Monday :)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Peter has been having nightmares, sometimes he wakes up sweaty and crying. Wade knows that feeling very well, he has been there himself, he lives with it every day.

No matter how much he insists, Peter never wants to talk about it, he just smiles and says it's nothing, because he knows Wade will feel guilty and bad and that's not what Peter wants, he just wants to feel normal again and erase all that of his memory, but it has become more difficult with the nightmares…

"We're glad you came, this is a very important mission and we need people like you," Natasha said as she walked with Peter and Wade down the hallway.

"Why us exactly?" asked Peter.

"Well, we need a couple who understand each other well enough to read each other's mind," Peter and Wade looked at each other with a frown.

"Um, I know you're not a couple, but Clint and you get along very well, and I thought you were perfect for cases like this," Peter assessed. Nat stopped and turned to face them.

"Yeah, but the guy we're dealing with thinks he's getting in touch with mercenaries."

"And then why does Peter have to come? I can handle that perfectly."

"Yeah well..." she continued walking "Let's just say that this guy likes pretty boys." she smiled awkwardly, Peter laughed and Wade glared at her "Yeah, yeah, I know, but that's why you go with him, to keep the guy from doing something stupid, you can't admit you're a couple however."

"So how am I gonna tell him that he can't touch my boyfriend or I'll cut his fucking head off?" She shrugged.

"Well, since you are supposed to be top assassins, I don't think he'll mess too much with him." Wade looked at Peter doubtful and he gave him a little smile.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"I know you will, that doesn't mean I'm comfortable with the idea."

They entered the computer room and she showed them the guy, it was big, like literally.

{More like a pig but in the gross kind of way.}

[Like Bebop from the TMNT, but uglier.]

"Is that the guy who's going to flirt with Petey?" he looked at Peter who made a disgusted face "I think I'm fine with it" Peter glared him and Nat laughed.

"Yes, that's the guy, his name is Roman, but he goes by the alias of Lobo, he's the biggest fish of the mafie, any mafia, Russian, Chinese, Neapolitan, Italian, ANYONE, they just get in touch with him for names and guy is the main reason for all the murders that have occurred in the last three years."

"Well that's some guy right there."

"We need the list with the names of all the people he pretends to give away, along with those already dead."

"We need you to load it here," Clint said, approaching and handing a USB to Peter. "We're going to burn the place after the mission, and you guys have to get out there trying to save as many people as possible ... Basically"

"His place has security everywhere, and since he's one of the best there is, it's almost impossible to get close to his mansion, so we'll be waiting for your signal somewhere else," Nat said, and then fell silent. Peter and Wade look at each other, with a 'well shit' look and Wade laughed nervously.

"Well listen to that, easy as cake"

"We know this is very risky, but this is one of the most important cases we have and even if you have helped us before, no one has seen your faces without the mask." Peter looked at her wide-eyed.

"So I have to go as Peter?"

"Not exactly, your name will be Tim."

"That kind of turns me on," Wade said approaching Peter who punched him.

"Dude," chuckled Clint.

"Anyway," continued Nat "I know you're not comfortable being on a mission without your suit, but this guy can't know you're Spider-Man."

"Can I at least use my strength or something?" she nodded.

"Yes, but a little less strong, you're supposed to be a mercenary not a super killer." Peter whined.

{This is gonna be hot.}

[Watching him struggle is always hot.]

{ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° }

"Oh, and meeting with him will take place at his house, naturally, since it's his 50th birthday party."

"He is meeting two hitman on his birthday party?" asked Peter confused.

"This guy is super weird" said Wade and Clint nodded.

""Yes, he is and has lots of money, so this is a luxury party, you will need fancy clothes," they all turned to Peter who blushed.

"Well I guess you already figured that I have nothing fancy."

"Don't worry Baby Boy, I'll take care of that" Wade said very excited and Nat stopped him.

"Actually you don't have to, the agency will pay and you can choose it."

{Ugh we wanted to _'Pretty Woman'_ him.}

"I have no idea how to choose a suit," said Peter turning completely red.

"Can I at least do that?" asked Wade, Nat rolled her eyes and nodded "Oh my God this is gonna be so much fun" he squeezed.

Wade was already sitting on the plane when Peter appeared in a formal suit and his messy hair trying to stay in place. Peter smiled shyly.

{Look at that hottie.}

[We should ask him on a date.]

"If that's not sexy, I don't know what it is"

Peter laughed and sat in front of him "Stop it" he said all flushed.

"You look super handsome my love, ready to kick some butts?" Peter nodded, but kept looking at the window nervously "Petey" he looked at him "Are you sure you want to do this? I can do it alone, if you're not ready."

Peter put a hand on his and smiled "It's okay, don't worry, it's just the first time I'll fight since ... You know"

Wade nodded "Wanna talk about it?" he shook his head.

"Maybe later, right now let's focus on the mission."

They arrived to a very fancy and big mansion, two big guards received them and walked them by the place until they found Lobo.

"Hello gentlemen, looking handsome" they just smiled, he stared directly at Peter and Wade was trying very hard not to get jealous, even if the guy was ugly af.

[He still has money tho.]

{Petey doesn't care about that.}

[That's what they all say until you show them a real diamond.]

{Shut up!}

"Bienvenue à mon maison, hope you feel comfortable, I'll give you the list with the names soon, just relax and have some fun" Lobo smiled, his eyes still on Peter, then someone came up behind him and started talking to him, the guy turned as if Wade and Peter were not there anymore.

They turned and ordered drinks while they looked around, it was an actual party, with people in their formal looks laughing and drinking champagne or whatever fancy drink.

"That guy is about to eat you with his eyes _Timy_."

"You can't seriously be jealous of him."

"I'm gonna be jealous even of a slug if it looks at you" Peter rolled his eyes.

"They all seem so calm," he said trying to change the subject.

"Yeah," this was Clint from the ear plug "It has become normal for Lobo to contact mercenaries at his parties, people just got used to it."

Lobo appeared again with a glass of whiskey in his hand "So.." He got closer to Peter "Want to dance?" Peter's eyes opened wide.

"Um we don't dance." answered Wade standing between them.

"Too bad, he is just how I like them."

"I'm about to lose my shit here Tim," He whispered to Peter, who laughed and turned him to face him, fixing Wade's bow tie while whispering.

"There's a room down the stairs, the guards keep coming down, I'm pretty sure that's our room." Wade raised an eyebrow.

{H.O.T!}

[Let's finish this so we can go home to have some fun with James sexy Bond here.]

"So, are yoy boyfriends or just lovers?" asked Lobo from behind while grinning.

"Okay, I'm gonna act possessive but it will be for a reason, don't try to stop me." Peter nodded and he turned.

"What did you just say?" he asked the guy while getting closer.

"I asked if he is your boyfriend or something because I like trios a lot, besides, you both look like the kind I like."

"You son of a bitch" And before he could reach Lobo, two guards blocked his way..

"Step back!" He approached one, enough to face him.

"Or what?" he asked hoarsely. Peter cleared his throat from behind, getting nervous.

"Or I'll have to kill you," said the big guard. Wade smiled and fixed the guy's blazer, who snarled at him.

"Okay then, we better not mess with you big guy," he turned to Peter and stood beside him, Peter looked at him in confusion. Lobo smiled..

"The offer still stands if you want to consider it, especially you a thug guy, I like rough," Wade gave him a hypocritical smile "Anyway, have fun, I'll see you guys later" and very subtly, gave them a role with two names "I hope the job done for tonight, you have the rest of the afternoon to drink some cocktails and have some fun" he winked at them and left with the guards beside him.

Wade turned to the bar and asked for a scotch, Peter looked at him trying to get an explanation.

"What?" Wade asked trying to look indignant.

"Well, what was the reason?"

"Oh no, I just wanted to call that pig a son of a bitch."

"Wade!" he laughed.

"Just kidding Baby Boy, relax and drink something," Peter sat down next to him and Wade slipped a card by the bar smiling.

"What is this?"

"The key to the security system," he said seductively and winked, Peter smiled playfully.

"I'm impressed, I could even kiss you if we didn't have to act just like coworkers."

"That turns me on SO fucking much."

"Um guys," it was Clint "You are aware Nat and I can hear you, right?" Peter chuckled.

"That turns me on even more" said Wade and Clint sighed.

"I should have a better payment for this" groaned Nat.

They acted as if they were drinking, and when Lobo was out of sight, they went downstairs. Wade knocked down the guards who were already there before they could shout, while Peter was at the computer trying to download the list on the USB.

Three guards appeared on the stairs and ran towards them, Wade kept trying to stop them while Peter was trying very hard to make the computer go faster.

"Some help here, Baby boy."

Peter sighed and left the USB connected to join Wade in the fight, doing his best not to use his spider strength, which was very hard, considering that these guys were twice their height. That's until Lobo appeared.

"Shoot them," he said, the guards at his side raised their weapons and did as they were told, but instead of killing Peter and Wade, they fired at the guards who attacked them. They stood there, confused, looking at the corpses on the floor.

"See, I like you guys, those guards did not please me anyway, but I can't seem to trust you guys."

He pointed a finger at them and headed up the stairs, the guards nodded and before they could grab them, Peter took the USB and hid it inside the jacket.

They were going up the stairs trying to find a solution when Clint spoke. "There will be a small earth shake guys, seize the opportunity," they looked confused as something exploded beneath them and the floor moved, so before the guards could do something, Peter and Wade grabbed their weapons and beat them. Lobo looked surprised.

"I'm sure we can find a solution."

"Just move asshole" Wade said hitting him on the back with the gun.

They left the mansion, there were people shouting behind them, but they seemed to be fine, as they were leaving the mansion in one piece. Wade and Peter just needed to get to the place where Clint and Nat told them they would be waiting, when they passed the pool, they found themselves surrounded by four guards.

"Okay guys, this could end here, you two still alive and happy," Lobo said "or with you two dead, which would be such a waste"

They looked at each other and nodded before turning to the guards, Peter pulling the guns off the two men on his side and Wade well...

{Unaliving the shit out of them.}

"WADE!" screamed Peter, Natasha and Clint at the same time.

{The last two from the wire.}

[Yep Einstein, they got it.]

"Hey, they were attacking my life, you never know when the healing factor might end."

Peter rolled his eyes and turned to Lobi, but another seven guards came out of nowhere.

"FUCK this could be easy people," whined Wade.

"I'm so done with this," complained Peter.

"Um guys, this is a mission, stay focused." said Nat and her eye-rolling could be heard even from the other side.

{It would be funnier if they just let us put some holes in their heads.}

They began to fight the guards, but the more they stopped, the more they were.

"Hello, any help? This is getting hard."

"On our way."

"Yeah, you've been saying that since the beginning." One of the guards shot Peter on the shoulder and he turned annoyed.

"Seriously dude? I'm the good guy here," He took the gun from his hands with a quick movement and kicked him in the face.

"That will show him." Wade said smiling from the other side. Peter shrugged until he remembered the shot in _THE_ shoulder, so shrugging them wasn't such a good idea.

"Ouch... Okat, that hurts."

"You okay, baby boy?" Wade asked while smashing two guards against each other.

"Yeah, sure... I'm fine."

One guard grabbed Peter's shoulder "SERIOUSLY?" The guard smiled and pointed the gun to his face, Peter rolled his eyes.

"Come on guys, do we really need the weapons? Can't we all just be civil?" The guard hit him with the gun and smiled still pointing at his face.

"Oh fuck you!" and with a quick move he took the gun away from him and pointed it at his face "How does that feel, huh?" The guard's eyes went wide.

"Um Timy, that's more my style... Get off me piece of shit" Wade yelled from behind with a guard over him and another in front of him, firing at his chest, which went directly to the guard on his back causing his death. "See bitch you're stupid, you just killed your brother from another mother for nothing" and punched him in the face.

On the other hand, Peter still had the pistol in the face of the guy he wanted to shoot so eagerly, he couldn't stop looking at his stupid face and remember the guards of the Weapon-X and felt anger and sadness and many more emotions. He just wanted to kill him, maybe that way everything would stop.

"Petey," Wade called out in a calm voice from behind and approached slowly..

Peter took a deep breath and looked at the guard in front of him, his eyes wide, then he looked at the gun in his hands and dropped it with a certain panic growing inside.

Wade came running, hit the guard and turned to Peter, who was shaking.

"Baby boy," Peter looked at him, breathing labored and with terrified eyes. "Breathe!"

Peter couldn't stop a smile, of course Wade would use his own medicine. He took a deep breath and let his body relax, just enough to regain some control.

"Guys put on the plugs we gave you" Nat ordered and they obeyed, before a SHIELD helicopter appeared with Clint and Nat in it. She threw a device to the floor, which made a very sharp noise. All the guards fainted, included Lobo, and even with the plugs, Peter's sensitive ear made him fall to his knees.

"Hey Petey, you okay?" blood was coming from his nose as he pressed his hands against his ears, trying to block the noise.

"Make it stop!" he groaned.

"NATASHA!" Wade screamed and she came down running, before turning it off.

Peter collapsed on Wade's arms and wiped the blood from his nose with the sleeve of his new suit, before making a disgusted face.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry Pete," she said coming closer, and Wade glared at her "Hey, they were too many, it was the only way."

"How do you feel?" Wade asked in a low tone, looking at him with very worried eyes.

"I'm fine" he replied smiling and tried to put a hand on his cheek, but the shoulder protested "Aw shit, I forgot about that."

"Petey you were shot?" now Wade was a complete mess trying not to panic.

"Wade, WADE!" Wade looked at him "I'm fine, it was on the shoulder, nothing new" Wade helped him get up while some of the agents of SHIELD came running to handcuff the guards and especially Lobo who was coming back to reality.

"Hey ass!" called him Wade "You can have that trio in jail."

Already in the lab, Wade was taking care of Peter, who was sitting on a metal table, while the others talked about the mission. Peter looked at Wade, it was noticeable that he was worried and trying not to lose control, so Peter bowed his head to look into his eyes.

"Hey, I'm fine see?" and smiled, Wade looked at him and half smiled.

"I can't lose you Petey." Peter leaned his forehead against his.

"I'm fine." Wade looked down, murmured something, and then looked back at him.

"You are," Peter smiled and kissed him.

"Okay, I'm ready, remove that bullet from my shoulder please."

"Breathe, this is gonna hurt."

"I know, I've been shot there before, remember?"

Wade smiled still worried, took some tweezers and a strip of gauze, then looked at Peter, who took a deep breath and nodded. Wade pushed the clamp into the hole in his shoulder, so Peter pressed the metal table with his fists and rested his head on Wade's shoulder as he groaned in pain.

"I know baby I'm sorry."

"Enough Wade, it's not your fault!"

And with a quick movement he drew the bullet out, pressing a gauze against the wound to stop the bleeding.

When Peter lifted his head from Wade's shoulder, he noticed that the others were watching them.

"Um...?"

"Sorry, the shouts distracted us," Banner said and everyone turned around again. Peter laughed and looked at Wade, who still had a worried look as he cleared the table.

"Wade."

"Hm?" He didn't look at him.

"Let's go home and take a bath, it looks like you need one," he said putting a gentle hand on his cheek. Wade smiled and buried his face in Peter's hand, who bent to kiss the baldness of his head.

Once at home, Wade filled the bath and entered, Peter followed and sat behind him, because for what was going to happen he needed to avoid eye contact.

He began massaging Wade's shoulders and head with his healthy arm, giving him a few kisses whenever he found the opportunity, and swallowed very deeply before he could speak.

"I know you've already been here, I know you know how I feel and even worse, because I was only there for a week and some of the guards of the cells were nice, so I can't compare it to your experience, but I..." Wade stopped him, grabbing his hands and pulling him close to him in a hug, Peter just buried his face in the back of his neck and began to cry.

"Baby boy, we both suffered, there is no worse than the other, only suffering and we all have the right to feel pain, no matter how small," he kept placing kisses in Peter's hands, who continued to cry, very low because he doesn't like to be heard, so Wade could only hear small sobs against his neck.

"What I'm trying to say" he continued "I'm not going to pressure you to tell me everything, because I know there are some things you might want to bury and never talk about, unless you want to, and I'll be more than willing to listen, like that time I told you about my experience, remember? That's what you told me and I want you to feel as safe as I feel with you." He turned to look at him, and Peter continued looking down with his tearful red eyes.

Wade got closer and kissed him on the forehead, then the cheeks, then the nose and finally the lips. Peter smiled and Wade stayed there, pressing their foreheads against each other.

{Our little spider.}

[My heart is in pieces.]

"I know you don't want to tell me because I'm going to feel bad, and yes, every word will feel like knives, but you can't stop that, it's normal because I care too much about you," he wiped some tears running down Peter's cheeks "Just don't fight this alone please, let me in." Peter looked at him, his eyes glassy and his face red from crying.

"Fine, I'll tell you some things and at some point I'll tell you others." Wade smiled gently and kissed him, his heart was already tearing apart, but he had to be strong and listen, because this was part of the healing.

Notes:

Chapter 13: Christmas Decoration

Summary:

I am _SO_ sorry for the lack of updates :( !  
But I'm back (yay) haha  
Also I noticed I got new followers while I was out somewhere :3 you are amazing, I love you all, making me happy and everything haha.  
Anyway  
It's Christmas time (*not actually, but let's imagine in this fic, it is already December lol*) and it's time for a big announcement 3

*There's a little something at the end 3*

PS. "*Sign Language*"

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

{How the hell are you gonna tell him?}

[You've been together for months and NOW you're gonna tell him?]

 _'Well, I just never found the words.'_

Peter was on the phone with May as Wade watched every move the young man was making, trying to find the right words to explain what he needed to say.

"Okay May, I'll ask Wade... Mhm, okay... Love you too, bye."

He hung up and turned to him "She wants to know if we would like to go to her house on the 25th for a Christmas dinner."

"Sounds great," He pulled Peter close and wrapped his arms around his waist "How you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Peter said, giving him a chaste kiss before looking at his hands, which were twisting on Wade's chest. It was still a difficult subject, but he really felt better, Wade was all the help he could ask for, plus Tony got him a psychologist just for him, whom he saw at least once a week, no matter how much he insisted on not needing one. And between love, sex, classes and Spider-man there was not much time to feel sad.

"Good" Wade began rubbing Peter's hair as he took a deep breath. "Um Petey there's something in my life I haven't told you about..." Peter stopped playing with his chest and looked up to meet his gaze.

{Shit, fuck... Shit.}

[Please Dear Lorde make him stay after this.]

"What is it?"

"Um well... Please don't leave me after this."

"Wade!" he stepped back "You're making me nervous, what is it?"

Wade pulled him closer, he needed the warmth of his body nearby while he still allowed it and honestly, to give him some strength "I um I... I have um"

"WADE!" He tried to take a step back, but Wade hugged him tightly.

"I have a daughter..."

There was a long pause, the uncomfortable silence filling the narrow space between them. Wade didn't look down at Peter, just hugged him nervously waiting for what he had to say, he was already packing in his imagination, everything he had in the apartment.

[This is your apartment asshole.]

{Would you have the balls to kick Peter out?}

[…]

{Exactly!}

Peter cleared his throat, taking Wade out of his thoughts. "Were you planning to keep this secret forever?" He finally asked, so Wade looked down, meeting his eyes, there was a little frown between his eyebrows, but Wade was not sure if that was bad.

"Well, no... I just didn't know how you would react and every time I was about to mention it, I would panic and you know I do that a lot," Peter chuckled.

{THANK GOD!}

[A chuckle doesn't mean anything Yellow.]

Peter didn't know what to say, this was not just a random topic, so after some thoughts, he just sighed "I know, but this is not just something you hide from your boyfriend."

"I didn't want to lose you."

"Don't be silly, I'm not gonna leave you 'cause you have a daughter..." then he thought about it for a moment, and frowned "Wait, how old is she?" Wade laughed.

"She's eight, I didn't even know about the existence of your sexy ass," he said slowly sliding his hands to grab the glorious named butt. Peter who was sunk in his thoughts jumped, blushing immediately.

"Yeah okay, stop that, we need to talk about this… What's her name?"

"Eleanor, I call her Ellie and as I said before, she is eight years old, her mother died and I gave her custody to a close friend, not because I didn't love or cared for her, but quite the opposite. I was a mess back then, even more than now, and you know..." His face turned sad as he stared at his boots "I had to do what was best for her."

"I'm sure you did," Peter said, brushing his thumb lightly against Wade's cheek.

"She's a great kid, always smiling and we talk a lot on the phone," his expressions changed and now seemed to shine as he spoke, this gave Peter a warm feeling.

"How come I've never heard any of these conversations?"

"You did, but I was always in the bathroom, so you probably thought I was talking to the boxes."

{Hello there!}

[#1 fans over here.]

"Oh... It makes sense." Peter was trying to remember Wade's conversations in the bathroom, so Wade kissed him to break those thoughts.

"I'm particularly telling you this now because um... She's kind of on her way right now," Peter's eyes widened and he let go of Wade.

"WHAT?" He ran to the bedroom. "Look at this place Wade... It's a mess." Wade grinned, leaning against the doorway. "And what am I going to use? Does she even know about me?" He asked, pausing to look at him. Wade simply nodded, still smiling and a sudden chill ran up Peter's spine. "What did you tell her? Oh no, I don't want to know" and continued cleaning, picking up everything on the floor. Wade (again) pulled him to his chest, making him throw it all back on the floor.

"I told her you were my sexy boyfriend, about your amazing ass, your perfect skills and how much I love you ... She basically adores you." Peter blushed.

"Did you really tell her about my ass?"

"It's the main topic of our conversations," they both laughed, Peter turning as red as Santa's hat, full of embarrassment and rubbing his hands against his face.

"I can't believe you were hiding this from me... Is she gonna stay for Christmas?"

"That's the plan... Is that okay?"

"Don't ask me Wade, it is your daughter, of course it's okay." He smiled and picked up everything else from the floor. "So, when exactly is she coming?"

Wade looked at his Hello Kitty watch "In about an hour, we have to pick her up at the airport."

"We don't have a car," Peter frowned.

"Clint left me his." Gandolf entered the room and Wade picked him up. "She's going to love you fluffy exorcist."

"Maybe we could stop at the toy store, so I can buy her something"

"You don't have to do that"

"I want to... It's your daughter Wade, I kind of have to make her like me."

"I already told you, she loves you." Wade came closer, placing Gandolf on his head and kissing Peter on the back of the neck, where he knows Peter is ticklish.

"Still, I want to," he said laughing and turning to Wade, smiling as he saw Gandolf at the top of his head.

"Fine, as you wish," Wade said carefully leaning to kiss him, but Gandolf's tail interposed, which made Peter wrinkle his nose and push back "Thanks for nothing, Gandolf," Wade snarled, the cat even seemed to smile.

"I'll take a quick shower and we can go," said Peter entering the bathroom, he was about to close the door, when Wade put Gandolf on the floor and ran to prevent that from happening, placing one foot between the door and the wall.

"Can I join?" He asked smoothly and Peter chuckled.

"We only have an hour and if I want to make a stop in the toy store, this can't happen"

"Peteer, can't you see? I love my daughter and I'm super happy she's coming, but the moment she walks through that door, our sex life will be over." Peter laughed.

"Don't be dramatic."

"A whole month without sex Baby Boy, that's going to kill me."

"How bad" pouted Peter, pulling him closer.

"Don't be so mean." Wade also made a pout, but his was real. Peter kissed him and before Wade could react, the door closed in his face.

"I'll be out in a sec," shouted Peter from the other side.

"PETER!" Wade glared at the door, but a mischievous smile appeared almost immediately. He took the key that was hidden at the top of the door and opened it slowly. "Then I will be finished in a sec too, though I can't make any promises." Peter laughed.

"You're the worst."

On their way to the airport they stopped at the toy store where Peter bought a Michelangelo, from the TMNT, because Wade told him those were Ellie's favorite ones.

Now they were at the airport waiting for her to appear, Peter's hands were writhing around the gift and he was sweating cold, he was very nervous. He thought he was good with children, but he has never had the chance to be with one for too long, and a month was _A LOT_ of time, he would have to improve himself for four whole weeks. Besides, this was Wade's daughter he knows Wade loves him, but if this little girl tells her daddy she doesn't like him, Wade would probably just say sorry to Peter and fly away. He couldn't stop thinking about this and Wade could see how nervous he was getting.

"Hey Baby Boy!"

"W-What?"

"Relax, she's just a kid."

"I know," and that was partly the problem, as was said before, Peter had never treated a child long enough, even worse, he was pretty sure he was not a kids person, yes, he is good and polite to them because every living creature deserves that, but he was definitely not a kids person, to be honest, they even scare him.

"There she is" squeaked Wade as he waved a hand at a girl who was actually quite tall for her age _'Well, this is Wade's daughter, of course she is tall.'_ The girl had a beautiful face that made her look innocent, she definitely had Wade's smile, one tooth missing, which made her look cute. Black curly hair and bright brown eyes. She seemed like the cutest thing and still Peter couldn't help to feel his heart racing like crazy.

She came running and jumped on Wade, who lifted her and pressed her against his chest with a big smile on his face "I missed you so much Ellie-Belly."

"Me too daddy, every day," she said, placing a big kiss on Wade's cheek, then she turned to Peter and gave Wade a look so he let her down. Before Peter could react, she was wrapped around his waist, hugging him tightly.

"I got so so happy when my daddy told me I was going to meet you, daddy Peter." His eyes widened and Wade chuckled.

"Oh" nervous laugh "Well, I'm a little sad that he didn't tell me about you before," he said returning the hug, trying to swallow the whole _'daddy Peter'_.

"I know, my daddy can be a mess sometimes, but you've helped him a lot to be better." Peter smiled at this, Ellie didn't seem like other kids _'Then again, she's Wade's daughter.'_

"Thank you...Oh, I bought you something," he said as she let him go, and tacking out the package. Her eyes glittered and she hugged him again, Peter really did not expect all this love.

"You didn't have to" she squeaked, just like her dad and Peter fondled her hair gently.

"Your dad said the same thing, but I really wanted to"

While Ellie was unwrapping the present, Wade couldn't help but smile, looking at the girl of his life so comfortable around the man of his life was more than he could ask for.

{*Crying*}

[*Sniffing and passing the wipes*]

{*Blowing the nose* Thank you}

"I LOVE IT!" screamed Ellie staring at the turtle with shining eyes, Peter was smiling like a fool now, he really liked this girl, she was too much like Wade to be real.

"Okay, you two, stop the love and let's go," Wade said and grabbed the bags to continue their way, while Ellie told Peter about the whole flight and how she formed a friendship with an old lady.

When they entered the apartment, Ellie shouted with happiness, looking at Gandolf, as she jumped and applauded. The cat opened his eyes wide and the girl ran to hug him, Gandolf as the patient cat that is, just let her do it.

"Daddy Peter?" Peter asked in a low voice, approaching Wade, who shrugged awkwardly.

"Yeah," he laughed nervously "She started calling you like that from the moment I told her we were dating." Peter chuckled.

"I see."

"If you prefer _mommy_ we can fix that." Peter glared at him and Wade laughed.

{You know where that naming thing would be hot?}

[Yeah, totally.]

"I couln't wait to meet you Gandolf, daddy sent me pictures of you every day," she said placing kisses all over the cat, before a sneeze came out. Peter and Wade turned to her with both eyebrows up "I'm a bit allergic to cats, but _PLEASE_ before you do or say anything, I can handle it completely, I brought my allergy pills with me and my doctor told me I could get used to it at some point "

"You sure?" asked Peter and she nodded.

"Okay good... Because I don't think I can get rid of that stupid cat," Wade said and Ellie laughed, pressing the cat against her chest.

"I would never ask you to do that daddy, just look at him, so fluffyyy."

"Yep, that's definitely your daughter," said Peter laughing before taking a sip of water from a bottle.

"So daddy Peter, are you and my daddy gonna get married one day?" Peter nearly choked on his drink and Wade ran up to Ellie to put a hand over her mouth, giggling.

"Sorry 'bout that, um... Ellie we've already talked about this."

"You have?" asked Peter breathing harshly.

"Just a little." Wade said, smiling awkwardly.

"More like every time we talk." mumbled Ellie behind Wade's hand.

Peter blushed, his face so red that he really felt the need to open all the windows of the apartment.

"Oh…" It was all he could pronounce as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

Someone knocked on the door and he was grateful for that, not that he never thought about getting married before, or that he didn't want it to be with Wade, on the contrary, but he never thought the subject would be mentioned under these circumstances.

He ran to the door and opened it, it was Clint.

"Uncle Cliint!" Ellie cried, running to meet him.

"Hey sweetheart!" He knelt down to wrap her in a big hug and Peter approached Wade again.

"Clint knew?" Wade smirked.

"Uh yeah..." Peter glared at him (again) "Hey, in my defense it's easier to tell a friend than your boyfriend, also she loves to FaceTime with him..." Peter kept the stare "Stop looking at me like that or I'll ask you to marry me right here." Peter froze and swallowed deeply, Wade just laughed at the view "That's what I thought."

"*I bought you something*" Clint said taking out a coloring book and handing it to her, she smiled and hugged him.

"*I drew something for you*" she responded immediately and Clint raised an eyebrow.

"*Didn't know this was an exchange*"

"*You have permission to give me something but I can't?*" she raised an eyebrow mimicking him and he couldn't stop a chuckle.

"Fine, let me see," She smiled and ran to look in her backpack, pulling out a rolled up paper with a bow on top of it.

"Hope you like it." Clint smiled and unrolled it, it was a picture of them eating ice cream as they watched the sunset.

"*I love it!*" he said smiling broadly and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. She chuckled and he got up again "Hey Petey, it's good to see you."

"You too, Clint."

The phone rang so Peter went to pick it up, it was Aunt May again "Hi dear!"

"Hi May!"

"Oh my God, I can hear her... She's already there? I thought she'd come later." Peter turned to Wade very angry.

"Seriously? She knew too?" Wade shrugged shamefully and May continued.

"Oh, stop fighting honey and put her on the phone, I want to ask her something."

"Fine..." He turned annoyed "Ellie."

"Yes, daddy Peter?" the annoyance disappeared almost immediately, being replaced by a simper. The _'daddy'_ thing still felt so strange yet so cute.

"My aunt May wants to ask you something," she squeaked.

"Aunt May?" And ran to Peter, who gave him the phone. Then he moved to stand beside Wade.

"How?" he asked dryly and Wade bit his bottom lip.

"I kind of told her a few weeks ago, they have each other's phone numbers and everything," Peter chuckled.

"Jesus Wade, I don't even know if I'm angry or happy."

"Anything but angry _pleasee._ " he teased, leaning his head on Peter's shoulder with puppy eyes. Peter smiled and Ellie turned around excitedly.

"She wants to know if I can go to sleep at her house on Christmas Eve, so we can make cookies in the evening and I can help her with dinner the next day." Peter smiled and looked at Wade who nodded.

"What do you say, daddy Peter?" his eyebrows went up in surprise.

"Oh um... Yeah, of course." she turned happy and continued talking to May.

"I found this in the basement of my house," Clint said and they both turned to him, it was a red star to the top of the tree. "I just thought that since it's red and you guys have a thing for that color, you'd find it a better use." Ellie ran to grab it.

"It's perfect." She said looking at it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Wade smiled and hugged Peter from behind.

"So _daddy_... It seems we can have some fun on Christmas Eve," his voice was hoarse and Peter shivered before getting out of the grip.

"Wade stop, not even a day has passed." he said and returned with Ellie and Clint.

{We'll get to that later.}

[We BETTER get to that later.]

"We don't have a Christmas tree," Peter said, and both Ellie and Clint turned in surprise..

"Wha-? How do you even survive?" Ellie asked incredulously.

"Well, we haven't had time to buy one," he replied with a shrug as if they'd just committed a murder they should be ashamed of.

"How nice that Uncle Clint here has a car and he will take us to pick one," said Wade smiling almost pleading Clint who rolled his eyes.

"Fine, let's go."

In the car Wade was sitting in the back with Ellie while Peter sat in the front with Clint. Peter looked at them through the mirror, they looked so happy and Peter could not help but think how hard it must be for Wade to be so far away from her, even for Ellie, whose eyes seemed to shine every time Wade made her laugh.

"They're kind of cute" Clint said in a low tone and Peter smiled.

"Yeah, they are… I still can't believe he didn't tell me" he kept his voice down, making sure Clint could read his lips.

"Hey, don't take it personal, he really wanted to, but you know how Wade is with his insecurities and you and that girl are everything to him, losing one to the other was his biggest fear." Peter felt guilty about it, of course that was true, he was just too blind to notice... Thank God for Clint.

"Yeah, I guess."

"THAT ONE!" cried Ellie, pointing to a _very_ large tree.

"Um…" Peter rubbed the back of his neck.

"It's perfect!" said Wade. Clint laughed and got closer to Peter.

"I think you need to be the voice of reason here." Peter rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Um guys…" they both turned to him and he swallowed hard "I think it is too big?"

"B-But…" pouted Ellie and turned to Wade who shrugged.

"I think he's right," he said and she dropped her shoulders before another tree appeared in front of her and her eyes shone again.

"THAT ONE!" it was a good size, so Peter and Wade nodded. Ellie grabbed Clint's hand and dragged him toward the tree.

"Thanks for that..." whispered Wade. "I don't know how to say no to her." Peter rolled his eyes and smiled turning to him.

"I think we'll have to work on that... I can not be the bad _daddy_ here." Wade smiled, it was so tender and honest that Peter felt happy. Wade leaned in and kissed him on the nose.

"I'm so happy that you two get on so well."

"She's a great kid… Reminds me a lot of her daddy" Wade blushed and Peter laughed at this.

Clint left them in the apartment building, Wade asked him to stay, but he said he had other things to do, Ellie of course gave him a big hug and Peter thanked him for everything.

Once in the apartment Ellie began to take out every Christmas decoration she had brought with her out of the backpack. When she finished, she noticed that they were both looking at her with great curiosity.

"Well, where are your ornaments?" she asked, Wade laughed nervously and Peter rubbed the back of his neck, grinning awkwardly "You gotta be kidding me."

"We are sort of always busy honey."

"How about when you are not being heroes?" she asked.

"We have a lot of sex" Wade said casually and Peter's eyes widened before prodding him on the ribs "Ouch"

"Well let's put these now and tomorrow we can go buy some more," she said ignoring what just happened.

The rest of the afternoon was dedicated to decorating, Wade and Ellie singing carols all the time, placing the red star on top of the tree and dancing with Gandolf at the same time.

Then the dinner, tacos, of course, which were prepared by the three, mostly by Wade and Ellie, while Peter just watched, getting anxious every time the other two used the tools as weapons to shoot each other, even more when they pointed out to him.

After dinner they were exhausted, Ellie kept insisting that she was perfectly awake, and tried to hide her face every time a yawn appeared.

Wade prepared the sofa, he planned to sleep there, but Ellie assured him that she was more than happy to do it so he could sleep with Peter. Peter insisted that he could go to sleep at his own apartment, but Ellie stopped them immediately.

"I will be fine, besides Spideypool is a thing daddies, remember?" she asked rolling her eyes while Peter looked at them confused.

"Oh, before I forget, I didn't give you your gift, Daddy Peter." She ran to her backpack and began to search.

"My gift?" Peter looked at Wade confused, the other smiled and came closer, leaning his head on Peter's shoulder and hugging him from behind.

"Yes, I couldn't wait to meet you, so I drew something every day since my daddy told me I was coming for Christmas, I finally drew so many things that I decided to do something with them, and since daddy mentioned that you love science, then I combined the drawings with something nerdy." She pulled out a white microscope with drawings of all of them on it, Peter smiled broadly when she gave it to him.

"Oh my God, this is amazing, best gift ever Ellie." she hugged him and he returned it, being followed by Wade's big arms around both of them.

{Never let go.}

[And still she let go.]

{Let it go Whitey… Dang, two movies in two sentences, I am Erudite.}

[Or just pathetic.]

"You two are" Wade said still in the hug.

"Say hi to Whitey and Yellow for me daddy," Ellie said and Peter laughed.

{I caaan't, this fucking writer wrote too much fluff on this freckin chapter.}

[… Yep, my heart is officially melting.]

"Okay, time to say good night, as much as I love this group hug, I can see both of your eyelids getting heavy."

Notes:

I wrote a Christmas Special for this fic (maybe I need a life, who knows) I was planning on posting it until December 23rd and 24th BUT... Do you want me to post it earlier?

Btw. There's an actual plot after the Christmas fluff lol ❤

Love you all.

Chapter 14: Christmas Part 1

Summary:

Sue me, I'm posting this before Christmas

(please don't, I have to pay rent)

Hope you like it :)

Again: "*Sign Language*"

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 _Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a_ … Never mind, Wade was making all kind of noises trying to find his mask (again).

"Petey I'm serious, there are elves around this house."

{Those creatures are evil, the way they present them in movies is just a mask.}

[Yeah sure, because they are totally real.]

{Is that sarcasm?}

[You tell me.]

"Okay Wade." Peter replied annoyed from the kitchen.

"Because otherwise, how would you explain the disappearance of the mask?"

"I don't know, maybe your lack of organization."

"That's more your thing."

Peter sighed "Look at me."

Wade had half of his body buried under the bed, so he could only see Peter's feet.

{They are beautiful, by the way.}

[They are feet.]

{Why are you so grumpy today?}

Peter leaned over so he could see Wade under the bed, and showed him the mask with a raised eyebrow.

"Does this help?"

"You're the best boyfriend ever," he said as he stepped out from under the bed. It was when he saw that Peter was only wearing an _"Ugly Christmas sweater"_ that was two sizes too big for him, but totally on purpose, because underneath he was completely naked.

[YOU SEE? THIS IS WHY I'M ANGRY. We leave the night before Christmas for a stupid mission when we could have action like rabbits 'til New Year's Eve. *Cries*]

{…Well fuck.}

"I feel you Whitey," Wade whispered sadly. Peter laughed and gave him the mask before returning to the kitchen. Of course, not leaving much to the imagination when his bubble-butt started pumping out of the sweater.

[*Cries louder*]

{*Joins the crying*}

"Why are you doing this to me?" Wade pouted as he followed the other into the living room. "What is this torture about?"

"Well, this way you'll get home in one piece, otherwise, all of this," said Peter moving his hands through his body "Will be wasted."

{NO no, nobody wants that!}

[Fuck the world, let's stay!]

"I could say I'm dying and just skip this mission" he got closer to Peter.

"Nope, you're going" he stepped back.

"Then stop torturing meee. You were supposed to say goodbye all covered, so I don't feel that the world is my worst enemy." Peter acted as if he was thinking about it, before a playful grin appeared on his face. .

"Nah, where's the fun in that?"

" _PETER!_ " Wade pulled him by the waist and Peter giggled. "We can have a quickie."

"How romantic."

{If romantic is what he wants, we could sing some Adele.}

[All of her songs are about break ups.]

Wade was about to start singing, when Peter stole a kiss from him. He grabbed Peter's butt and in response, the other moaned against his lips. Wade groaned as his lips lowered to Peter's jaw and his hands climbed under the sweater and through his naked body.

Peter kept moaning as he moved his mouth to play with Wade's ear. The other groaned and went up to kiss him again. He could feel every part of his body trembling with desire when... Someone knocked on the door. Peter stopped the kiss and ran to his room to put on some sweats.

{Nooo!}

[Who the fuck would do that to us?]

Wade walked to the door, all the nerves of his body filled with anger. When he opened a very happy Clint greeted him. Clint then saw Wade's angry face and bowed his head in confusion, right before looking down at Wade's suit.

"Oh… Sorry?" he said smirking, and Wade only growled.

"I hate you so much right now."

"Hey Clint!" Peter greeted from behind, trying to brush his messy hair with his hands.

"Like, seriously hating you right now."

"Wade stop." Peter glared at Wade and he did the same. Then Peter turned to Clint with a big smile. "Come in, please," he said, pulling Wade away from the door and letting Clint enter.

"Sorry, I thought you were ready." Clint shrugged, but Wade's face remained the same.

"He was," tried to excuse him Peter "It's a bit my fault."

{Totally his fault, now what are we gonna do about this thing under our pants?}

[I'm turning into a combination of The Grinch with Scrooge right now.]

"I hate you too," Wade said narrowing his eyes as he looked at Peter. He simply smiled.

"No you don't… Um, do you want anything to drink or...?" he asked turning to Clint.

"No Petey that's okay. Actually the car is already down stairs waiting for us," Clint said with a smirk, afraid to look at Wade, who was craving wholes through his body.

"Oh okay. Well, have a nice trip, stay safe and just come back, please." Peter said the last thing looking at Wade with worried eyes, for which he couldn't remain angry. So Wade relaxed his body and hugged him.

"You'd better save that for later," he whispered into Peter's ear.

"Come back in one piece and I'll think about it." They kissed, and Wade smiled still wishing the world was not so cruel to him. Then he turned, glared at Clint, and left the apartment while the other said goodbye and then ran to join him. When Peter closed the door, Wade punched him.

"*Ouch okay, I deserve it, but in my defense, you knew the time I was going to come*" Wade just flipped the bird in response.

"Okay guys, the mission is simple, you just have to take this tube-" Steve showed them an image of a transparent lab tube with pink liquid inside "-From these guys," and some ugly creatures appeared on the screen.

{Damn and I thought we were ugly.}

[Those things look like the Orcs from The Lord of the Rings.]

"Maybe they are, the writer might have a lack of imagination"

{True story.}

"Excuse me?" asked Captain confused and Clint shook his head.

"The boxes, Steve."

"Oh, right." said the other waving a hand in the air to dismiss it.

{We love you and your sexy ass, Caaap!}

[Not as much as Peter's *Cries again*]

"Anyway, you have to bring this small tube safe here, so we can return it to the CDC"

"So that's a virus?" Wade asked with a disgusted face.

"Yes, a very dangerous disease is trapped in that tube. No one understands how they got it because it was supposed to be inside a sheltered cabinet in one of the buildings that is most surrounded by security. So if you could try to find out that too, it would be very useful." Clint nodded and Wade just stared at the tube.

{How can something so pretty be so dangerous?}

[Sounds like Peter]

{Could you stop?}

"Nat was supposed to go with you, but something showed up and she had to go with Banner." Clint and Wade looked at each other with a face that said _'I know what's going on there'_ and then they chuckled.

"What is it?" Steve asked and they both shook their heads.

"Nothing." They answered in unison.

"Just one question," Wade said, approaching the screen. "If that tube gets a little scratch...?"

"You have to stay inside the cave and…"

"Die yeah… But I can't die, so…?"

"Well, I suppose you'll have to stay there until a cure is found, otherwise you'd be spreading the disease."

[Well shit, thanks Cap!]

"I can't wait so long. Peter actually grows old, remember? Besides, I can't get infected."

"Well, we don't know that with this disease, but do not worry, okay? I trust you two will bring it safe, and no one will get infected," Steve said smiling, patting a gentle hand on Wade's shoulder.

[Gee, stop the help Cap.]

"*What are you doing for Christmas?*" Clint asked as they were inside the plane.

"*Apart from having sex...*" Clint held up his hands to stop him.

"*Save me the details.*"

"*Kay, but you miss it because it's the best part,*" Clint chuckled "*We are going to Aunt May's.*"

"*I see… She's a nice lady.*"

"*Yeah, she totally is… What about you?*"

"*Well, the plan was to date a girl I met, but she cancelled last minute, so I don't know. I guess I'll watch The Grinch.*" He didn't wait for Wade to answer and turned to the window.

{Aw that's sad.}

[We should do something.]

Wade pulled out his cell phone and texted Peter.

Wade: -Hello my favorite Christmas Carol!-

Peter: -Hey! Missing me already?-

Wade: -I'm always missing you ;) :* 3 (-¡-) hey baby, quick question… Can Clint come to May's? He's kind of lonely :( *broken heart emoji because this AO3 place won't let me put it*

Peter: -What? Anyway, of course, I'll ask May, but I'm sure she will say yes, she kind of has a crush on him.-

Wade: -LOL thank you sweetie pie, love you 3 ;-P *.* 3-

He sent out a bunch of Christmas and eggplants emojis and put the phone aside. He decided he would tell Clint later because they were almost reaching their destination.

"Thanks Jason, we'll see you tomorrow," Clint said, waving goodbye to the pilot.

"I hate that name."

"Why?"

{Stupid Jason.}

[Fucking Jason.]

Wade shook his head "Just an asshole I hate."

They began to walk until they found the swamp that led to the cave.

"*Fuck! Couldn't they be dirtier choosing the place where their cave would be?*"

"*I know, it smells awful too.*" Clint pinched his nose in disgust.

"*I swear that wasn't me.*"

"WADE!"

The path was long and very sticky, at least the water was not as high as it reached below the knees, but it was still difficult to walk like this, especially when, from time to time, a large snake swam by and Wade panicked, jumping over Clint, who only rolled his eyes. But more than that everything was very calmed. They reached a flat area and Wade collapsed.

"Let me enjoy this moment for a second, please." Clint laughed shaking his head and sat down beside him. "*I can't believe we are doing this the night before Christmas, isn't that depressing?*"

"*I got you a present*" Said Clint. Wade shrieked, and sat down at once. Clint laughed and pulled out a gun that had the shape of a unicorn. The barrel being the horn, and a great red ribbon enveloped it.

{*Cries*}

[It is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen]

"OH MY GOD, it's so pretty!" squeezed Wade as he took the gun out of Clint's hands to admire it closely.

"*It was a bit awkward to order something like that, the store owner was judging me in silence.*"

"*You're the best friend ever*" Wade said hugging him, Clint only laughed.

"You're welcome!"

"*I have something for you too.*" Clint looked at him in surprise. "*What? You could not seriously believe that I would come empty-handed on Christmas Eve*" He took out a large package from the space where he puts his katanas.

"*How? I mean…*" Clint started looking around Wade's suit. "*Seriously, HOW? Where were you hiding that?*" Wade wiggled both eyebrows in a funny way.

"Magic, mah fren."

"Okay, let's see." He removed the wrapper (which was white paper with a lot of drawings of them together) and pulled out a carousel. His face suddenly lit up. "*How did you know?*"

"*Well, you grew up in a circus, so I thought you'd like a reminder.*" Clint smiled and hugged Wade, who stood still. Because although Clint had made it very clear that he really appreciated Wade, he had never shown true love until now.

{This is the best bestie hug ever!}

[Let's all appreciate this moment, please.]

"*Thank you!*" he said while letting him go "*I really like it.*"

Wade grinned, "Anything for my sexy plum."

"*Okay, let's go now. We need to keep going.*"

They walked on until they found the mountain where the cave was supposed to be. When they arrived and looked up, they realized how high it was -like, very-, so they looked at each other and sighed.

They went up, doing everything possible not to fall because there were very slippery parts.

When they finally reached the top, Wade dropped back to the ground, and Clint rolled his eyes.

"*Wade, we need to keep going!*"

"*It was good to meet you, my friend, but I think I'm dead already.*"

"Wade."

"Leave me, I'll be fine."

"*All right then, I'll tell Peter that his boyfriend will not be able to come home because he was 'tired'. Poor Petey all alone and horny at home.*" Wade stood up abruptly.

"Don't you dare!"

"Then let's move."

[That was low.]

{He knows our weakness.}

[Everyone does, it has a fucking name and ass like Lola Bunny]

The cave had a large hallway with oil lamps attached to the walls to illuminate the road. But other than that, it was just empty and too quiet and calm.

"*How much longer do we have to go on until we find something?*" Wade asked, trying to keep quiet. Clint opened the map that Steve gave them and looked at it confused..

"*Well, if I'm right... We're here already.*" They looked around and found only the same large empty corridor, which was held on both sides.

"Um…" The ground below them moved and before they could react, they were already in the middle of the cave, placed on a large space, far from where they were before. Surrounded by large cave walls from where some-

{LOTR orcs wannabe}

-Were looking down at them.

"*What now?*" Wade asked.

"*Why are you asking me? I thought you had a plan*"

"*I never have a plan.*"

The orcs came down, some running and others flying.

"What the fuck are these creatures?" Wade asked, trying to dodge one and hit (shooting) at another.

"Why should I know?" said Clint, shooting arrows at the flying ones.

"Geez, they look like a combination of an orc and Dracula from Van Helsing."

[Again, the writer has such a lack of imagination.]

They kept coming down and ideas of how to stop them were slipping away. Whenever Clint seemed about to be out of arrows, new ones appeared.

{I've never understood how.}

[There are questions that should never be answered my Yellow friend.]

"Hey fuck off, I can regenerate but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt." Wade shouted at the creature who drew a deep cut on his arm with a claw.

"I don't have any more arrows," screamed Clint from behind.

[Well listen to that.]

{Maybe he's just playing so that we never find out he's a magician.}

"What should we do now?" Clint kept asking Wade as if he had all the answers.

"Let's kill 'em!"

"What is wrong with you?"

"Well you keep asking and that's all I know."

"*Let's go right there.*" said Clint pointing to an entrance that he saw to the left.

"Um doesn't seem like a good idea."

"Better to stay here?"

"Fine," they both kicked some asses before heading for the entrance. As they turned the corner there were about ten creatures waiting for them and smiling broadly. They tried to return, but there were others blocking their way.

Before they knew it, they were hanging on a large branch with arms and feet tied and their heads swaying as two great creatures carried them.

{Maybe this is it, this is our end.}

[Fuck, and we didn't have sex before… Fuck this mission!]

Clint cleared his throat behind him "I should've trusted you."

"I'm glad you figured that out after you lead us to a death trap."

They opened the door to a large room that had two stone tables in the hall. One creature grabbed Wade by the feet and pulled him out of the branch followed by Clint. Making them hit their head against the ground.

"Ouch, you should have warned us before, at least be kind to your food," Wade said, before being pushed to one of the creature's shoulders and thrown on one of the tables. Clint was dashed over the other one and whined.

"Fuck, they don't know a shit about manners."

The creatures receded, and some footsteps were heard as someone approached.

"Clint."

"Yeah?"

"If we don't make it out of this, I want you to know something."

"Okay…?"

"… It was me."

"What are you talking about?"

"… Who ate your sandwich the other day."

"You bastard!"

The creature that made the sound of the footsteps, stood between the two tables and watched them smiling. He was an ordinary human being, dressed in a formal suit, glasses and everything.

"Um okay… Unexpected?"

"Hello friends, it is a pleasure to meet you, my name is Paul."

"What up?" Wade asked and Clint rolled his eyes..

"May I ask, why do I have the honor of having you both at my facilities?"

"Well, I don't know man," replied Clint "Maybe something about you having a virus that could kill us all in this place?"

The man did not seem to listen to Clint, and instead he approached Wade, looking at him with very dilated pupils.

"You are a beautiful specimen, Mr. Deadpool, you have no idea how much I admire you and your body."

{Fuck, I'm scared.}

[Creepy!]

"Oh well… Thank you?" Wade scowled and the other got even closer.

"I was planning to go for you, but I'm glad you came to me... Oh, and on Christmas Eve, look at that, as a gift from Santa."

{CREEPY AF!}

[Is he going to suck our blood or something?]

{Well we were hoping to be sucked today, so hey! Maybe we still have a chance.}

[Yeah, by a very hot spider, not a creepy guy.]

"What do you need the virus for?" Clint asked as the guy rolled his eyes and turned to face him again.

"Well, my ladies here are pregnant and the babies need sick people to eat." He shrugged, turning to Wade and winking. "It is funny, but the sick ones are more nutritious, you know."

{Eeww, okay first of all… He has sex with this creatures?}

[Jesus! Remind us again, what are we doing here?]

"That could kill you" continued Clint.

"Oh no honey, not me… I'm half vampire, see?" he said pulling his head back and opening his mouth to show the fangs.

{JA see, totally Van Helsing.}

[Where's Wolverine/Van Helsing when we need him?]

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll prepare dinner for two" He turned to Wade "I'll be waiting for your presence Mr. Deadpool"

"Well, there's not much I can do, right? I'm kind of stuck here," Wade said raising his chained hands to make a point. Paul just smiled and bent down to smell him.

"Can't wait." he said in a groan, and Wade flinched. Paul then smile to both men and left the room, while seven creatures stayed to keep an eye on them.

"Fuck this man, I'm not staying here." Wade said trying to stand up before a creature gripped a strong arm over his chest and pushed him back to the table. He tried to fight it, but it was very big and strong "Fuck off, I didn't even want to leave anyway."

"I never thought I'd say this, but..." Wade looked at him and Clint tried very hard to be understood in sign language with both hands tied.

"Well shit handsome plum, that's a good idea… It's going to hurt tho and it will be kind of gross, but…"

"WADE, dude! Just do it!"

{Geez!}

[Just because he is not the one who is going to break his hands.]

So yeah, that was the idea, to break his hands until they were completely free so he could kick some butts and leave that creepy place.

{Don't forget about the virus.}

[Fuck the virus! That guy wants to eat us.]

First he broke his fingers, then lifted his hips and let them fall, to strike his hands with all the strength he has. Naturally, one of the Orcs came to see what was happening and Wade just smiled. He was already free, but before he could do anything else, his hands needed to heal.

{Just some seconds.}

[It's okay, it's not like there's a creepy guy trying to eat us, or a sexy boyfriend waiting for us at home.]

Wade began to sing 'Jingle Bell Rock' as he easily gets distracted and because honestly there was nothing else to do while the hands regenerated. Clint laughed and sang along with him. The Orcs looked confused and before they knew it, Wade was already taking two down.

{Yes, I'm sorry people but he killed them.}

[No one will miss them anyway, so who cares?]

Clint didn't like that, but there was nothing he could do, it might be the only way, and if there was another, he wasn't that interested to know.

"Okay sexy plum" he said getting closer to Clint with one Orc trying to pull him away "I'm gonna get to you, don't worry, I'll just…" Wade kept pounding and kicking the creature, who was gripping him tightly around the waist.

{He's not achieving much tho.}

"This thing is big, could you be patient?"

[Yeah sure, no probs, it's not like we could die or something.]

"I'm gonna do something very disgusting and I'm saying sorry beforehand because it might be gross for viewers."

{Or readers, whatever you want to be called.}

[What are you going to…?]

Wade pulled the mask up his nose, and bit the disgusting arm of the Orc, which was dirty, sticky and tasted horrible. And then he ripped off some of it.

{Oh God, I'm gonna throw up!}

[Nope nope nope, just nope!]

"Wade, Jesus!" Clint said with a disgusted face.

And so the Orc let him go and before others came, he grabbed the ax the Orc had and cut Clint's bindings on his fists (which were more like a heap of climbing plants in the form of handcuffs).

{This creatures have a lot of imagination.}

[Or a low budget.]

Then he cut the ones in their feet.

{Because yeah, we are so badass that we fight like ninjas even with our feet tied.}

[Or we're just lucky.]

They were eliminating all the Orcs, one by one. Most didn't die, which was a breakthrough, until they heard someone clapping from behind, it was Paul.

"Bravo, what a spectacle! I love seeing two beautiful specimens fighting. Especially you Deadpool, you're my favorite," he said, winking.

[Run bitch ruuun!]

{Noo, the virus!}

"Ugh, right."

"Now, since it seems that you cannot be far from each other, I will invite you both to my room. My creatures have already set up a table for two, but they can change it for three." He looked at an Orc. The creature nodded and left the room without further words.

{Before we leave, we could adopt one of those and make it our slave or something, but not the sexy kind.}

[Haven't you seen Planet of the Apes? Slavery creatures could end badly, dude.]

"Anyway, I'm hungry. Please come." Paul started to walk and some Orcs came behind them and began to push.

"I'm walking dude, I'm walking, geez."

"*Maybe he keeps the virus in his room.*" said Wade.

"*Too predictable.*"

They continued to follow the guy until a large wooden door opened in front of them. The room was large, like seriously large, the kind of room a vampire would have, you know... On the bed were two beautiful ladies with almost no clothes on.

"Let me introduce you to my ladies."

{Oohh, so he wasn't fucking the Orcs.}

[Now I get it, they are pretty hot.]

"They are hungry because they are pregnant and the sick humans who have eaten are not enough, they need MORE disease, like you my love," he said, pointing to Wade.

{My love my ass.}

[Don't fucking touch us.]

"Sit here." Of course they were forced to sit on the chairs "My ladies will do a private dance before dinner is served."

The beautiful women rose from the bed and came walking very seductively towards them.

{FuckFuckFuckFuckFuck!}

[Try to think about Peter, try to…]

One of the women sat on his lap.

"Hello handsome." Wade swallowed and turned his vision to his side, to find a very distracted Clint.

{Well fuck, we're done.}

[The end, fuck, this is the end, at least we will have sex.]

"Yeah but, this is not the sex I wanted."

Wade glanced over the woman's shoulder in his lap. The vampire grabbed the tube in his hands and was about to open it. Wade put his hands on the hips of the young woman, who looked at him hungry.

"Sorry sweetheart, you're kind of hot, but I have something much better waiting for me at home," and twisted her until they were both standing. Then he quickly put a knife in her throat.

"Mr. Deadpool, I'll advise you put that thing down"

"Or what?" he asked. Clint looked at the tube and came back to reality.

"Or I'm going to drop this," he said with a creepy smile. "You know, it's very funny how humans put these viruses that are so dangerous in things as delicate as this tube, it could break with only one… Single." He hit it with the tip of his nail and the tube almost fell.

"Don't even think about it," Wade groaned, pressing the knife even harder against the woman's throat. "You need her to keep this thing going, right? As far as I could see, you don't have any other woman, so you need something stronger, because maybe a girl will born."

"SHUT UP!" Paul growled, his pupils dilating.

Clint started to approach Paul, who was distracted by Wade's words. Wade noticed looking out of the corner of his eye, so he went on.

"And since you're not a vampire completely, you can't convert anyone, not even other women, that's why you need them."

"SHUT UP!"

"It worked the first time right? Otherwise they wouldn't exist, but after that, what? Only deformed creatures were the result, how right am I?"

"You know nothing!"

{Jon Snow.}

[Shh, don't ruin it.]

Before Paul could say anything Clint jumped him. Paul hit the edge of the bed and the tube slid out of his hand. Wade jumped and saved the thing, just before it hit the ground.

{That was close readers, just try to imagine it, some Jason Bourne shit right there.}

[Let's get out of this damn mad house, RIGHT NOW!]

Wade ran for the doors and closed them before the Orcs could enter. Clint wrapped the guy and the women in their hands with torn sheets. Then he called Steve.

"How's it going?" asked Steve happily.

"Uh yeah, we need backup down here."

"Oh okay then, it's on its way."

"Damn it Cap, I don't think we can wait that long" Wade was against the door, that with all the shoving from the other side, was already giving up.

"We're just around the corner, I swear. The place is a bit difficult to get to."

"Yeah, we know that," Clint rolled his eyes.

"You can't ruin this, I can't let you," Paul got up and started running toward the tube Wade had left on the bed.

"Fuck it," He had to leave the door to catch the tube before Paul could reach it, and of course many orcs came behind.

"WADE!" Clint shouted as he entered a hole in the wall.

{Because of course.}

[Otherwise we would die and the writer can't have that right now.]

Wade ran and went into the hole to follow him, kicking the hands that were trying to reach him. When they were already far from the room Clint pulled out a grenade.

"Now move faster," he said and threw the grenade in their midst, which ended right in front of the Orcs trapped at the rim of the hole.

The other men crawled faster and a _'BOOM'_ sound came from behind. The hot wave hit them and threw them from the cave, to the cliff of a very high mountain. They moved to the sides of the hole, so fire and smoke could come out of it.

{Just like a fucking movie.}

[Where's the super hero landing?]

Notes:

I'll post the second part right away, because tomorrow (or the rest of the week) I won't have time :(

Chapter 15: Christmas Part 2 **

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 _The children were nestled all snug in their beds_ {Airplane sits actually}  
 _While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads_ [More like weapons and sex]  
 _And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap_ {Nope, both in much damaged suits}  
 _had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap._

It was already the morning of Christmas when they boarded the private jet, and through the whole flight they both slept. Tired was a small word for what they felt. When they arrived Tony, Nat and Bruce greet them with a tap over their shoulders and wide grins.

Wade was about to leave when he remembered about Clint.

"Right! Hey sexy prune, um I was wondering if you want to go to May's later."

"Really?" he asked surprised.

"Well yeah, May likes you and it would be nice to spend Christmas not only with my sugarplums but also the bestie" Clint laughed and rubbed his hair.

"Oh well, sure then! Why not!"

"Hey Wade," shouted Tony from behind. "Why don't you stay for a while and drink something with us?"

"Sorry guys, I have a naked princess waiting for me at home" everyone laughed as they shook their heads.

"Alright then, Merry Christmas!"

Wade could not even open the door completely, when Peter was already all over him.

"Oh God, I'm so glad you're back," Peter shrieked. Wade smiled and squeezed him into a big hug.

"Not even a meteorite would've stop me from coming back to you, my sweet chipmunk." Peter kissed him, humming with happiness.

"How was it?"

"You have no idea, there were creatures that looked like LOTR orcs wannabe, and vampires who were all over me all night -by the way- and we ended up discovering that one of the CDC's vice presidents was the one who helped them to take the substances, because his daughter was one of Dracula-aspiring ladies."

{Yes, the writer skipped all that part.}

[She's truly an special case.]

"Wow, seems like a lot, wanna talk about it?"

"Are you seriously asking me if I want to talk instead of making sweet love with my favorite eggnog?"

{We've been waiting for this moment for a month now!}

[We even tell some orcs about it.]

Peter smiled playfully and kissed him, of course a very deep and hot kiss.

"Fine, but after that you have to tell me everything."

"Sure, smurfy." And Wade kissed him back.

"Oh, I forgot!" Peter got down and pointed at Gandolf "Look."

The poor cat was wearing an elf costume with a bell at the end of his hat and a very angry face. Wade couldn't stop laughing and had to lift him.

"You look so handsome, furry Satan."

"I also bought something for you," said Peter very excited "Well it is for me, but like for you."

"Oh, I get what you're saying."

{This is gonna be GOOD.}

[Good thing we left for that mission.]

{ -.- }

"I mean I bought you a real present _FOR_ you, but also this other present because I thought you'll like to see me in it, but that doesn't mean I didn't bought _YOU_ something, like… um?"

"Hey!" Wade snapped his fingers and Peter looked up at him "Less brain, more present."

"Oh!" nervous laugh "yeah sorry, okay I'll go change, wait here," he muttered while running to the bedroom.

"Well well well, Gandolf, seems like mommy went shopping while daddy was working."

"I'M NOT THE MOMMY, WADE!"

"Just kidding."

{Not really.}

[Yeah, but we can't say that out loud.]

"Okay, I'm ready."

"You coming out?"

"You want me out there?" Peter asked timidly from the other side of the door. "Wouldn't you rather come here?"

"There is no one else but Gandolf and I here, Petey. No one will see you with whatever sexy thing you're wearing."

"Okay" sighs "Okay" Peter let his face be seen through the door, he was wearing a Santa hat.

"I'm already liking what I see."

"You're just looking at my face, Wade."

"Yeah and I really like that." Peter rolled his eyes, took a deep breath and slowly came out.

{Sweet Lord, somebody grab me because I'm going to faint.}

[I swear I can hear the Christmas bells.]

He was wearing a Santa's skirt above a pair of tall red socks that had little white lace on the top, perfectly fitting Peter's thighs, and of course the Santa's hat. But nothing else.

He began to swing from side to side, clutching the skirt in the process. Doing his best not to blush, which he was not achieving since he was already a pretty in pink.

"So… How do I look?" he asked biting his bottom lip nervously.

Wade felt like crying and fainting from happiness, and found himself completely silent, something that is rare in him, not for nothing he's called 'The Merc with a Mouth' but for the first time, Peter seemed to have silenced him forever.

{Maybe we die…?}

[Then this is the best death ever!]

"WADE!" Peter was now completely blushing "Say something or I'll change."

"NOO!" he ran to prevent that from happening. "No, please, I just... I have no words." Peter looked down, his cheeks burning red.

{And he's the cutest which makes it harder.}

[I'm in heaven already.]

"You look perfect." Wade breathed out. Peter smiled and began to swing again, this time in semicircles, and grabbing the skirt in the process. "And I don't know how you manage to look cute and slutty at the same time," he laughed and Wade leaned over to kiss him.

It quickly became a very lusty kiss, there was so much desire in them, it made the air feel incredibly hot. Wade leaned forward a little more, without breaking the kiss and pressed his fingers against the high stockings, before climbing up scratching through the fabric. Peter moaned, and Wade traveled to Peter's butt, squeezing it with all the strength he had, there was too much lust trapped inside him.

A breathless whimper came from Peter's mouth and his eyes widened, but Wade didn't stop. He lifted him from under his knees and bit his neck, down to his collarbone. Peter hummed, now wrapping his legs around Wade's waist.

"I'm too hungry right now, Petey, so this might be rough." Wade said, locking his hungry eyes on Peter's.

Peter frowned, as if thinking about it, but then bit his lip and shrugged. Wade groaned and kissed him again, a rough kiss, full of passion and desire. They hit the wall and Peter moaned. Wade nipped Peter's lower lip, pulling his head back with the lip between his teeth before returning to the kiss, his hands almost tearing the fabric of the stockings.

He kept kissing and licking Peter's body while the other was pressed against the wall by Wade's hips, with the full sensation of Wade's cock against his. Peter's legs were still wrapped around Wade, who was still pressing his fingers against the fabric of the stockings and his skin. It was rough. It was passionate. And it was perfect, their blood running through their bodies like crazy.

Peter got off Wade but didn't stop. He knelt down and began unbuttoning Wade's pants.

{We are totally shut through this smut.}

[Yeah well, I still have no words and watching is good.]

{I'll bring the popcorn.}

He shoved the pants down and the cock jumped out. He was not wearing underwear so Peter leaned back from the sudden appearance. Wade laughed at that.

"Looks like someone's hungry," Peter said in a low tone before wrapping a hand at the base to lick his head. Wade put a hand on the wall for support. He knew that Peter could make him lose it anytime soon. The boy started to kiss him all over the shaft, until he looked up at Wade and put the whole thing in his mouth.

"Aw fuck." groaned Wade still looking at the boy working.

{Shit.}

[Told you, watching is good.]

Peter went on deepening. Moving his tongue and sucking. Wrapping the very textured thing that is Wade's limb with his mouth and looking up from time to time, to find Wade's eyes looking at him with love and desire.

Peter let go a few times to take deep breaths causing a a snap and vibrations through Wade's body every time he did. Before going back in.

Wade kept looking at Peter just leaving the sight whenever a moan came out and he had to pull his head up. But kept looking through the rest, and every time Peter made eye contact he felt shivers all over his body. He took Peter's hair with his fist and began to rub the messy thing, trying not to lose control, but with the boy sucking his cock like he was doing, it was becoming harder.

"I'm about to… Petey" He groaned, but Peter dropped his cock and got up.

"No, hold it." Wade raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything, Peter kissed him.

Wade flipped him to press his chest against the wall and Peter shout surprised as Wade went down, lifting the skirt a little before licking Peter's -previously shaved- hole. He moaned and pressed his forehead against the wall, Wade licked again and Peter's hand reached for his bald head, trying to make him go deeper.

"You like that, naughty boy?" he licked again and Peter moaned louder, "Tell me you like it," he licked and Peter just whimpered. "Try words, Baby boy." said Wade with a chuckle.

Peter rolled his eyes and took a moment to breathe and try to regain his composure, panting against the wall. But when he opened his mouth to say something, Wade's wet tongue went back in and he could only moan again.

Wade was having a blast by this, biting Peter's buttocks along with kisses, before going back to lick the now very wet entrance. He slid two fingers inside, causing a loud whine from the other, and continued wetting with his warm tongue. He moved his fingers a few times and then let Peter do the rest, when the other almost unconsciously began to move his hips to meet his fingers.

By this, Wade couldn't keep himself anymore. He got up, and before Peter could recover from the first orgasm, Wade spat in his palm, rubbed his cock with it and put it inside the shining hole.

Peter gasped, and a deep groan followed. Wade grinned, shaking his head slowly to rub his nose against Peter's soft hair. Then he went to his ear, where he kissed and licked the shell, coming down a little to bite the soft earlobe. Peter whined loudly, that's a very sensitive spot.

Wade gripped Peter's hips to make him steady and began to move his own. Peter put both hands on the wall, dropping his head with a deep groan. Wade moaned, leaning over to kiss and bite the back of Peter's neck. Then he wrapped one arm around Peter's chest and propped the other hand against the wall, while his hips kept thrusting.

He pressed Peter to his chest, the boy tossed his head back with a breathless moan. Wade took advantage and licked at the side of his long neck. Then he grabbed Peter's cock with his fist and moved it to the rhythm of the thrust of his hips. Peter had to put one hand on the wall while the other tried to hold onto Wade, in case his trembling legs finally gave in. At least he could have something to hold.

Wade kept thrusting and masturbating Peter as he was panting against his shoulder, biting and kissing whenever he found the opportunity. He was about to come, but before he did, he nipped Peter's shoulder, maybe too hard because the other screamed/moaned. Wade came with a loud groan, not leaving Peter behind, he stroked a few more times and Peter painted the wall with his own.

Peter almost fell, but Wade caught him in time. He was still trying to catch his breath, but he always managed to catch Peter. Peter seemed to need a nap, so Wade carried him to the bed and pulled some sheets on him. The boy mumbled something.

"You need to sleep, Baby boy. We still have two hours before the dinner," he said, rubbing a few fingers over the brown, sweaty and messy hair on Peter's forehead, before lying down on the bed and curling up against him. The boy smiled and Wade kissed him on the back of his neck.

"Hey Petey, wake up!" the other mumbled something.

[Sleepy head.]

{We have a very cute and lazy boyfriend.}

"We do. Petey, up now!" Peter mumbled again "No, none of that, you have to take a shower before we go," now he pouted so Wade picked him up and threw him over his shoulder.

"Wadeee!" he whined, while bouncing on Wade's back.

"Good, now you're awake," Wade said smacking him in the ass.

"WADEE!"

"Even better." He went into the bathroom and placed him on the toilet seat. Peter looked at him with a very sleepy face, "You look adorable." Peter closed his eyes "No no no, Petey stay awake."

He pouted with his bottom lip out and Wade kissed him "I'm too tired, you drained me," he said childishly. The sight made Wade laugh.

{So adorkable.}

[We have such a cute Christmas present.]

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that, you looked so hot in that skirt." Peter looked down and noticed that he was still wearing it, along with the high tights almost completely torn."

"Um… I thought you had taken this off when you laid me in bed."

"I couldn't, you looked too sexy" Peter rolled his eyes and stood up to take them off. Wade had already filled the tub, so he came in, still very sleepy and grabbed the soap to slip it over his arm. Then Wade followed him, and half the water spilled out.

"You need to stop filling the tub so much if you know you're getting in." Wade chuckled and grabbed the shampoo bottle, to wash Peter's hair.

"Well," he said, massaging his scalp "It's funnier this way."

"Yeah, but I'm always the one cleaning the mess." Wade poured some water over his head to rinse the shampoo and placed a hand on Peter's forehead to keep the water from entering his eyes.

"I promise I'll do it this time," he said kissing the back of his neck, Peter tickled.

[We always say that.]

{Yeah, but he doesn't have to know.}

[He knows.]

"So, are you gonna tell me about the mission?"

"Right! Let's see. Where can I start?"

When they entered Aunt May's house, a very happy Ellie jumped over them.

"I'M SO HAPPY YOU ARE HERE!" she said hugging and kissing them both.

Clint was already there, helping May with the table "Jesus where were you two? Even I came on time"

"And who says I didn't?" Wade asked, waggling his brows seductively.

"Wadee!" Peter turned to him all red and wide-eyed.

"Dude" Clint said shaking his head as he laughed "Save us the details"

Ellie laced her fingers with Peter's, and headed for the kitchen, where Aunt May greeted him with a big hug and kisses all over his face. Even if she saw him yesterday when they brought Ellie. Wade came behind them and May did the same with him.

"You look very handsome boys, almost as if you had a good time before you decided to show up." Peter hid his flushed face behind his hands, Clint laughed and Wade blushed.

{I knew this lady was wild.}

[MILF!]

{Have some respect!}

[You started.]

"So" Wade cleared his throat "Want us to help with something?"

"Oh no honey don't worry, Clint already helped a lot." she gave him a warm smile and he returned it "Go and take a seat, Ellie show your daddies what you did."

"Riight, follow me! I'll show you the gingerbread people we did" she said pulling them to the table. In each seat was a gingerbread man for each person, one Deadpool, one Spider-Man, other of Hawkeye, an Aunt May and a little Ellie. Both Peter and Wade smiled wide and hugged the little girl.

The rest of the night was as good. They had fun, shared anecdotes and exchanged gifts. Aunt May even bought one for Clint, who almost cried for the gestures everyone had toward him. At the end of the night they were so full and tired that going back home was too much, so they decided to stay in May's. Even Clint for whom May prepared the couch as cozy as possible.

Going up stairs Wade was carrying Peter piggyback style, yes Peter not Ellie.

"I'm too tired," he said bouncing on Wade's back, his head resting on his shoulder, Ellie chuckled.

"Were you being Spider-Man before the dinner, daddy Peter?" He blushed and Wade laughed.

"Um.. Well."

"He was being more like a naughty Santa, Ellie baby." Peter smacked him on the arm and hid his face on Wade's shoulder because he was now completely red.

Notes:

"Happy Christmas to all and to all a goodnight!"

{Stop, you're embarrassing yourself.}

[Doesn't she always?]

"Again, Fuck Off ¬¬"

Anyhow :D let me know what you think!

Chapter 16: Not Again

Chapter Text

It was a good New Year's Eve, they spent a great time with Ellie and the Avengers family, everything was fine and perfect until Ellie had to go home. Wade was very sad about it, but he promised to keep calling and that someday he would be able to have her back in his life, especially now that Peter was part of it. Something to note was that Wade did not get into his usual depressions just like every time Ellie left, all thanks to Peter, who was there to make him feel better.

On the other hand Peter was feeling weird and has become stronger lately, he had headaches almost every day and any sound or movement made him jump. Wade noticed it a few weeks ago and asked Peter, but he just shook his head. He did not want to tell him, he actually felt guilty, with Wade sad about the whole situation with Ellie, he could not just tell him and make it worse.

They were called to the Stark Tower, Tony was very clear when he said it was an emergency. So here they were both, in the meeting room waiting for him. But when the elevator doors opened, it was not just him who came out of them, but the whole Avengers team. They looked at each other in confusion.

"Hello my little friends," Thor said and they smiled at him. "Though it be honest, it is never good to bring ill tidings." Their smiles faded and Tony rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, the plan was to be nice and calm before saying the bad news, but Thor does not seem to understand very well how it works," and gave a glance at a certain God, the Asgardian just smirked.

"Um Peter", this was Banner approaching "how have you been?" Peter looked at him in surprise, not expecting that question.

"Uh fine... I guess?" Banner kept eye contact and he began to feel uncomfortable, that until Wade spoke _'Thank God'._

"Okay, what the fuck is happening? And what is that _'ill tidings'_ bullshit?"

They all looked down, almost immediately, which made Wade even more impatient.

{What the actual fuck?}

[Can someone say something?]

"HELLO?"

"We called because," Steve cleared his throat. "We've heard something is wrong."

"Yes, Thorsy already made that clear, but what is it?"

"The New Weapon X" this was Clint, the only one who dared to look him in the eye.

{What about it?}

[That thing is already dead... Right?]

"It's back, guys," finished Nat. Wade felt his heart stop, while at the same time he felt it run a mile a minute. Peter froze next to him.

{BULLSHIT!}

[We burn that thing down.]

"H-How?" stuttered Peter.

"We know of this because some fire mutants are back, and not only that, it seems that some of the students at Charles's mansion who were abducted earlier have now disappeared," said Steve. Peter grabbed Wade's hand almost like an instinct in need of protection.

"Like... K-Kidnaped again?" asked Peter, his voice breaking. _'Not again.'_

"There were no forced entries and it is almost impossible to enter that Mansion without being noticed."

"But not entirely, they could have kidnapped them, right?" Peter continued, but none seemed to want to be really honest about it. "How many have disappeared?" There was only silence in response and Peter felt his eyes fill with tears, he felt vulnerable again "HOW MANY?"

"Only three, Peter," said Banner almost whispering. "But don't worry about it, we can take care of you."

"How?" Wade asked darkly, he seemed angry.

"You two can stay here," Tony continued, trying to calm their nerves. "This is one of the safest places in the world, no one will enter here," there was a long silence until Peter broke it.

"I have classes... And work, I can't just stay like nothing."

"Are you fucking with me?" Wade said almost screaming, turning to Peter as his breathing became labored. "They just told you that the fucking organization that kidnapped you is back and you think about your damn classes and work?" Peter kept his gaze on the floor.

"PETER LOOK AT ME!" the boy slowly turned his head and looked up, his eyes were full of fear "Talk to me."

"I want to feel normal," he whispered, looking down again.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Please don't scream," he whispered again and Wade changed his expression at this, lowering his voice almost immediately.

"Baby Boy, listen to me... I get it, you want to feel normal, but please try to listen to what they're telling you." Wade got closer to face him and Peter looked up at him.

"I don't want to stay," he said in a whisper. Wade looked away and sighed.

"Okay, but I'll go with you wherever you go, do you hear me? _EVERY DAMN PLACE._ " Peter rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'm pretty sure I can take care of myself."

"Yes, as you did the last time." Peter looked at him with pain in his eyes, but that didn't seem to affect Wade. "Do not look at me like that, you know I'm right."

The Avengers who stayed silent all the time, almost holding their breaths and changing their looks from Wade to Peter every time they spoke. Now decided it was a good time to intervene.

Nat: "Being out there is not a good idea."

Tony: "You can't be serious, you don't have to go to classes, I'm going to give you a job here. You don't even need a degree."

Steve: "I understand you want to feel normal, but please stay."

Clint: "..."

Thor: "I could take you to Asgard, we have good scientists for whatever you learn in this world."

Bruce just stared at him, watching the reactions Peter was having when everyone talked, it seemed like he was having a hard time with that, as if it were painful. "How are your spider senses?" He finally asked and they all stopped to look at Peter.

"Um..." He shrugged, as if trying to get smaller "T-They are fine."

"Bullshit!" said Wade and Peter glared him. "He's been jumping with any fucking noise and I bet there are other things he has not told me about"

"It's not that serious."

"Stop now, Peter Benjamin Parker." Peter just looked down. Again the room was silent. Banner got up and started to walk away, as much of the group as he could. Once away, he whispered, the lower whisper that his throat allowed.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Peter nodded, but when he looked up, he noticed that Banner was across the room. He rolled his eyes and looked down again.

"If your spider senses are fine, then it would have been impossible for you to hear that," Banner finished.

"But fuck it," grunted Wade "he wants to go to classes."

"Why are you so angry?" Peter asked annoyed and Wade stood abruptly.

"BECAUSE YOU WERE FUCKING KIDNAPPED AND TORTURED, AND IT SEEMS LIKE YOU DON'T GIVE A FUCK THAT THE SAME PEOPLE IS BACK." He stood there looking at him, his face red with fury. Peter could not bear it and looked away.

"You have to be somewhere safe, Peter," Steve continued, trying to ease the tension. "Please, let us take care of you."

Peter got up, but some kind of dizziness hit him and before he could react, he fainted.


	3. POOLMAN

POOLMAN

Chapter 1: How Did We Get Here?

Spider-Man opened his eyes and did not know where he was. He was flat on his back, his neck hurt and everything was quiet. The sky was white above him, and the ground under his back was cold. Having woken up from passing out many times before, Spider-man knew better than to get up too fast. He stayed still and tried to figure out where he was. He turned his head a bit to the left, and saw more white. Miles of white ice with a thin layer of snow of it, stretching out and meeting the white sky at the horizon far away. He heard a seagull. A copy of "USA Today" fluttered by. He tried to remember . . .

He was standing on a rooftop in Queens in the early evening, and it had been a busy and frustrating day. Nothing big, just a bunch of small, annoying problems that had gotten on Spider-Mans nerves and made him want to punch something that deserved punching. And when Deadpool showed up, it was a relief. That guy never failed to be punch-worthy, and he could take it without lasting damage.

"Hey, Spider-butt! How's my favourite arthropod this evening?"

"Not in the mood. Go away, Deadpool." Spider-Man answered, but he hoped he wouldn't. And of course he didn't.

"KimPossible, Spidey. Your fine ass looks like solid iron, and Magneto just lent me this magnetic right hand glove that can not help being attracted to it." he said, holding up his – obviously ordinary – gloved hand in the air. He pretended to struggle with in, catching it with his left hand around the wrist, getting closer and closer to Spider-Mans butt. "Nooo!" he yelled. "Spare the virtue of the most adorable rump in New York!"

Spider-Man stood still at the edge of the roof, arms crossed, ignoring Deadpools show behind his back. If he smacks my butt, I'm punching him. If he grabs it, I'm tossing him off the roof. He even selected a pile of cardboard boxes he would aim for. After all, he didn't really want to hurt Deadpool, he just wanted a punching bag. Deadpool came closer and closer, pulling with all his strength to stop his right hand from touching the blue spandex surface.

"It's too strong! There is no escape!" Deadpool yelled, as his hand was now only an inch away from it's target.

Spider-Man waited, his whole body tense, his hand already a fist. As soon as he felt that touch he would . . . but not before. The wait was longer than expected, as Deadpool was now struggling to stand up right behind Spider-Man, panting and gasping in his pretend fight with himself, his hand getting closer. Spider-Man stood extra still, he didn't want to back into the hand and make it his own fault. If he was going to punch Deadpool, he needed on, just do it already! Smack it, grab it, do something! Spider-Man felt impatient and wanted to lash out with full force, but Deadpool still kept a thin layer of air between his hand and Spider-Mans ass. The distance was now so tiny that Spider-Man imagined he could feel the heat from the palm radiating against his skin. He wanted the touch so bad now; he had to make an effort not to arch back into it. Touch it touch it touch it touch it . . .

Spider-Man had his eyes closed under the mask, waiting. Deadpool was suddenly silent behind him.

"Um . . . Spidey? Is it just me or is there a mass panic over there?"

People were screaming, trash was blowing about in strong winds. Six black cloudy funnels, each about the size of a person, were moving erratically along a large street. Captain America was standing in the middle of the sucking storm, directing people away from the street.

"All right, everybody, avoid the vortexes, we don't know where they lead. Hold on to something stable and we'll try to shut them down as soon as possible!" he said, throwing his shield through one of the funnels and cutting it in half.

Spider-Man and Deadpool were down on the street in a split second and Spider-man started webbing people to the asphalt so they wouldn't get sucked in. Deadpool was shooting at the closest funnel, but with little results. The funnel got closer and caught a grey Volvo that disappeared with a slurping noise. Deadpool drew his katanas and started hacking at the funnel base.

"Yikes!" he yelled. Deadpools cry caught Spider-Mans attention, and he turned around to see the mercenary going down the funnel feet first, still hacking. Spider-Man shot webs to catch his arms and then . . .

Then what?

Spider-Man could not remember anything after that. He was still on his back on the ice and the seagull was circling over him. The bird landed next to the newspaper and started picking at some wet french fries. Spider-Man sat up without fainting. He still had web attached to his wrists, so he hadn't been unconscious for long, or it would have dissolved. Encouraged by the success, he decided to stand up. The web was connected to Deadpools two arms, torn of at the shoulders.

Oh shit, that is horrible. What did I do? Where is the rest of him? Spider-Man looked around. Ice in every direction, small spruce-covered islands in the distance. Typical New York trash littering the white snow, and a grey Volvo stuck halfway into the water underneath, trunk first. The seagull had called for his friends, and they descended on the bloody arms.

"Oh hell no! Shoo!" Spider-Man said, scaring them away. When their cawing went away, he could hear singing.

" Cold cold heart . . . hard done by you . . . some things looking better baby . . . just passing thruuuuu . . . "

"Deadpool? Where are you?"

"No blooping idea. Between a rock and a hard place and can't see shit."

Spider-Man walked towards the Volvo and looked inside. Empty. He looked behind it, also no Deadpool.

"Keep talking." he said.

"I think that's the first time you asked me to do that, Spidey. Any requests?" Deadpools voice was close but he still couldn't see him.

"Do you have any idea where you might be?" Spider-Man checked the trash but there was nothing big enough to hide the bulk of the muscular mercenary.

"Well, I can't feel my legs, and when I wet my pants a minute ago they didn't get wetter." he said. Spider-Man walked back to the Volvo and finally saw a glimpse of a red suit. Wedged between the car and the broken ice was Deadpools head, the mask awry and covering his eyes, and a severed shoulder. The rest of him was under the ice – at least Spider-Man hoped it was. He reached down and adjusted the mask so Deadpool could see.

Deadpool was truly stuck. He couldn't get any leverage with his legs deep down in the water, he didn't have any arms, and trying to get a Volvo off your back is hard work no matter how many core-strengthening exercises you've done. It took the combined effort of both of them to get him up. Spider-Man broke the ice around the car more, rocked it back and forth (Deadpool insisting that it was 'fine' despite more blood gushing out), until it finally sunk to the bottom of the sea and left a gaping hole. Spider-Man pulled Deadpools wet body away from it all the way over to where his severed arms lay waiting for their owner to return.

"This would be a great moment for a nap and a cuddle, but I'm freezing my toes off." Deadpool said, trying to reattach his limbs. "Besides, it's getting dark soon." He pointed to a spot in the white sky where a pale sun was barely visible behind the cloud layer, and it was close to the horizon.

"I suppose that since there are seagulls, we are still on earth." said Spider-Man. "Which means the sun still sets in the west, and it looks as if there are islands in that direction."

" Go weeeeest, life is peaceful there, go weeeest, in the open air . . . "

"Shut up and walk."

Chapter 2: A Place To Stay Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Spider-Man couldn't recall ever having been this cold before. The arms and feet of his thin suit were wet with brackish water, snow crunched under his feet and there was a slight breeze. He was not dressed for winter weather at all, it had been summer in New York when they left. Just how did we leave? And where are we now? He shivered and stumbled. His phone was silent, with no reception, no gps positioning, and no maps. It still functioned as a clock, so he knew they had been walking for three hours. The only thing that kept them on their feet was the fact that they had spotted a light on the coast. It had become visible as the sky got darker. They were now coming close to a small island jutting out of the ice. It was the size of a city block and had some crooked pine trees struggling to eke out a living in the small amount of soil filling the crevices. It was probably exposed to waves and winds in the summers since the cliffs were washed clean. It didn't look inviting.

"What do you think, do we build a shelter here or can we make it to the light?" Spider-Man asked.

" Should I stay or should I go now, if I go there will be trouuuble, if I stay it will be douuuble . . . " Deadpool sang. Spider-Man lost his temper.

"NO! SHUT UP! NO MORE SINGING! This is serious! This is probably no big deal for you, but for me this is a question of if I can survive the night or not!" Spider-Man sat down in the snow and started to cry. "I don't want to die here . . . I don't even know where we are . . . and what would aunt May say . . . I don't . . ."

Deadpool sat down and pulled the shivering young man closer. There was ice in the seams of his suit, and he was almost as cold as Spider-Man was. He pulled a damp handkerchief from a pouch and held it under Spider-Mans nose in a very motherly gesture that means 'blow your nose' in every language.

Spider-Man couldn't help but laugh a little. He had tears and snot inside his mask and would really like a handkerchief right now.

"Thank you." he said, and wiped his face under the mask. "Sorry for yelling like that."

"Eh, what's a little breakdown between frenemies? Besides, you're right and I'm a stupid mess as always. I'm not sure I've ever died from freezing. Mebbe I did but who knows? Not me, that's for sure. Fuck, it feels like I got a handjob from Elsa. Besides, Spidey, which one did you think was hotter, Elsa, Anna or Kristoff? Please don't say Hans, the 'attractive villain' trope is overdone."

"Sorry, I don't know what you're talking about." Spider-Man answered. "But if we ever get home I'll find out, I promise. So what do you think about our choice?"

"We would be the coolest museum display ever, standing right next to a defrosted woolly mammoth!"

"Our choice?" Spider-Man repeated.

Deadpool squinted at the small dot of light on the coast, as if trying to measure the distance with his eyes. Spider-Man looked at his concentrated face. Is this going to be the last person I see before I die? Never expected that. All right, maybe I did expect that. But if so, I would have thought it would have been his fault. Maybe this is his fault. No, it's not his fault that I tried to save him. So I die tonight because I made a stupid, rash decision. It figures.

"I say we go towards the light."

"Hey Deadpool."

"Yeah?"

Spider-Man pulled off his mask and looked at Deadpool.

"My name is Peter Parker. " Deadpool jumped up as he had been stabbed.

"Oh hey, no . . . Spider-Man . . . Peter . . . you'll live. This is not a deathbed situation. You didn't have to unmask . . . your eyes are brown . . . good grief you're a hottie." He shook his head vigorously. "Put the mask back on, we rewind the VHS tape and record over this bit. Come on, I'll forget your name is Peter, it's easy!" Deadpool took out a gun and aimed it at his own temple. Peter grabbed his arm to stop him.

"DON'T DO THAT! I know your name is Wade Wilson, so it's only fair."

"Everybody knows THAT." Deadpool seemed intent on making a large hole in his mental circuits. Peter didn't want to break his arm off twice in one day. The craziness made Deadpool stronger and Peter had to make an effort to restrain him. He had grabbed Deadpool from the front and slowly got the mercenary's arms down and bent behind his back and now he held them there. Deadpool's chest was huge and Peter had to get right up against it or else he wouldn't reach around him. He practically hugged the huge man. When he felt Deadpool's arms relax a little, he moved his long fingers down the muscular arm and tapped at the wrist until Deadpool dropped the gun.

"Don't shoot yourself. I need you." Peter said slowly, his hot breath forming a cloud in the cold air, enveloping their faces in a tiny fog.

"Wha . . "

"I mean . . . I need you to help me. I won't survive this without you."

"Right. Yes. Help Spider-Petey. Abso-fucking-lutely. Let's go!"

After two more hours, they were close enough to the shore to see that the light came from a gathering of low houses and was flickering in a way that meant that it was probably not electric.

"Houses means no mammoths." Spider-Man said.

"Well, poop. I had my young heart all set on that."

Their feet were so cold that it felt like they were walking on wooden legs. After another half hour, they stepped up from the ice onto a wooden jetty. The cold strangers were soon spotted by two large grey dogs that ran towards them barking like hell had broken loose. Deadpool pulled out a firearm but didn't fire.

"You're not going to shoot them, are you?" Spider-Man said.

"Not for doing their watchdog job and barking, no. If they go for the throat, yes." Deadpool answered. But the dogs were good at their job, doors opened at once, and as soon as the people living there stepped out, the dogs considered their work done and ran inside, tails wagging. The two cold men were ushered inside the largest building, which was warm and smelled of smoke. The fires on the long hearth in the middle of the room were the only source of light, and Spider-Man had never seen a house like this before.

"Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore." Deadpool said.

"Since we walked across the frozen SEA for over FIVE HOURS I think it's pretty obvious that we were never in Kansas." Spider-Man said.

The hope that he might actually survive this had done wonders for his ability to quip. An old woman wrapped them in blankets, put them down on a low bench close to the fire and they soon had a hot mug of something in their hands. Not caring what it was as long as it was warmer than he was, Spider-Man downed the contents fast. Some sort of chicken broth with oatmeal? Whatever. Deadpool was nursing the mug in his hands, hesitant to show even half his face among strangers. Strangers that were vikings.

Chapter 3: Chicken Soup Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

There were twenty or so men and women in the house, and an uncertain number of children. At the end of the main room stood a larger chair, almost a throne, but no one was sitting in it. Spider-Man, with manners that would have made aunt May proud, was already looking for a host to thank for this hospitality. He didn't have to look for long, as there was no doubt that the woman approaching them was in charge. Her posture and face made Spider-Man feel like he was back in school. He had seen that look before, a perpetual pissed-off look that you could find on tired teachers at the end of the school year. The angry eyebrows, the slight frown and the tight-lipped mouth that indicated they had experienced enough bullshit to last them a lifetime and if you were going to claim that 'the dog deleted my Google Classroom app' it would be the last straw. She was heavily pregnant and wore an elaborate braided hairstyle. Deadpool had pulled the blanket over his head and was drinking his soup under it.

"Welcome to the hall" she said. Her posture made it obvious that this was only because it was polite to say so, and she didn't elaborate. She glanced over them both and seemed to take in every little detail. "Any injuries we need to treat?"

"No thank you, ma'am, no injuries" Spider-Man answered. The title just came out of his mouth by its own accord.

"Frostbite?"

"Probably not, I'm sure we'll be fine. Thank you for letting us in. We'll be warm soon."

The woman lifted an eyebrow in doubt. She reached down to touch Spider-Man's right foot, and lifted it off the floor where it had left a wet mark. "Hmmmpf." She spoke to a gaunt old man with a white mustache and a miscievious smile. "Make some wrapped hot stones for the guests and put them under their feet." The old man made a show of his creaking back and weak legs, but once he was up he swiftly bundled up some stones off the hearth in rags and carried two in each hand without any difficulty.

"You need to take your face hoods off, I want to be sure I'm not inviting my husband's enemies to the table."

Spider-Man was half exposed already and figured she was right. He pulled the rest of his mask off and stood up to shake her hand. He didn't know where – or when – they were, but it felt like a secret identity was not a big deal tonight. Deadpool hesitated, still sitting hunched under the blanket. Peter knew why, but there wasn't much he could do. Deadpool took off his gloves slowly to give her a chance to back down. She noticed the skin but still looked resolute. He continued with the mask and peeled it backwards. She flinched, and scrunched up her eyebrows even more. The three were silent for a moment. Peter hoped she wouldn't overreact, Wade was more sensitive about his looks than most people would expect. Peter was less shocked himself, since he had seen the lower half of Wade's face a few times before.

"You look like a man who is no longer afraid of death." she finally said. "Was it fire or lye?"

"I'm gonna go with C: none of the above, ma'am." Wade said.

"So a curse, then? I am the wife, my name is Gunnlod."

"No kidding? I bet everybody else ran away screaming when you got that invite!" Wade said. Gunnlod got a small twitch of a smile on her lips before going back to the frown that was her default face. She turned away and told some boys to move over to free two cots for the guests.

"What did you mean?" Peter whispered.

"Her name means 'invitation to battle'." Wade whispered back. "And before you ask how I knew that - yes because your face gives it away - I looked it up once because it's a really cool name - I mean cool as ME - and I was going to use it as my moniker online. Turns out it's a girls name. I still used it of course."

Sitting in front of the fire soon dried Spider-Mans suit. He suspected that Deadpools thicker fabric was probably still damp, but he knew better than to suggest he take it off. Wade had cheered up a bit when Gunnlod was so (relatively) casual about his 'condition'. Either she had seen worse or she was good at keeping a straight face. Either way, it had been a good thing.

It had been late when they arrived, many were already sleeping. Beds were on benches along the walls and one wall had cots built into it like large bookshelves. With straw on the bottom and covered with hides, it felt like heaven to Peter when he was tucked into one of them, new hot stones at his feet. Wade was given a cot adjecent to his, and Peter heard the thick wood creak under his weight as he laid down. Peter hardly had time to sigh with content before he was sleeping.

Peter spend the whole next day in bed, weak and feverish. Truth be told, he could have gotten up but he was afraid to do so. This was all so strange. He needed to observe how this world worked before he was prepared to take part in it. Deadpool seemed to adjust faster – but he was an experienced dimension-hopper, he claimed. He wore his mask rolled down most of the time to avoid scaring the children. That was when Peter noticed that there were no average adult men in the house. Women of all ages, but only boys or very old men. Deadpool brought Peter more soup and plenty of information.

"So, Spidey!"

"You might as well use my real name."

Deadpool paused with the wooden bowl in his hands.

"So, Mr Parker! How're you feeling this fine day in march, roughly 900-1000 A.D.?"

"That was the weirdest question ever."

"Okay, I'll stop with the Mr Parker thing, just wanted to try it."

"That was NOT the weird bit. And don't spoon-feed me!"

Deadpool had actually filled the spoon with soup and held it up to Peters face. Peter took the bowl from him and sat up to eat. The spandex of his costume was littered with white hairs from the bed hides. He looked like a dog owner. Peter tried to brush them off, but that only transferred them from his suit to the air and he got some in the soup.

"So, vikings." Peter said as he slurped.

"Yep, except no vikings – in the seafaring sense – are here. They were expected home three months ago but the winter has been colder than usual and the sea froze over. No ships can come in." Deadpool said. "Which means we're probably on the coast of the baltic sea, because I don't think the atlantic gets ice-covered often. Keep eating. They asked if we're from Tunis since our clothes are red – don't know what sort of connection that is but I said yes because, whatever, right? I haven't said anything about super powers and I've stashed my guns under my bedstraw."

"And your swords?" Peter said.

Deadpool pointed to a section of the wall, adorned with painted animals and pegs where all types of weapons hung. His katanas made a nice addition to the collection.

"The water is safe to drink, animals are allowed indoors and you go potty next to the manure pile, out the door and two houses to the right. Never use someone else's knife, never beat a slave that's not your own, life vests are located under your seats and don't mention the war."

"What war?" Peter said.

"Ex-actly!" Deadpool winked at him. "You catch on quickly." He unrolled a bundle of brown wool, in the middle of which were a pair of socks and sealskin boots. "I asked nicely and got a warm tunic for you, you can wear it over the suit. My costume is much warmer than your thin, revealing, sexy spandex."

"Thank you." Peter said.

"No problem, I'll call you sexy any time!"

"Thank you for GETTING ME CLOTHES."

Chapter 4: You've Got to Be Kidding Notes:

Next chapter will have fanart, this time by Petimetrek.  
And if you feel inspired to do some yourself, please contact me.

Chapter Text

The next day, the wind had changed and was coming from northwest. It seemed like this was something important, because it put all the villagers on edge. Some of the smaller cattle had been brought inside. They were told to prepare for a freezing night. Boys were bringing in high piles of firewood and putting on extra clothes before going to bed (rather than the opposite). Peter was making his cot head-to-head with Wade's when one of the children came up to him.

"Mummy said I should ask if you and Deadpool want to have kids." she said.

Peter stiffened and looked at Wades back. There was no doubt that he must have heard what the child said, but the question hadn't been directed at him, so it wasn't like he could answer. WHAT had Wade been telling them? Was Gunnlod considering them a COUPLE? But surely . . . anyway, he had to answer now, the child was waiting.

"Um, no. Deadpool and I are not together . . . not like that."

"Mummy said she has two that she could give you."

Okay, Wade definitely heard that. He sounded like he was choking on his own spit and Peter felt a lot less cold now that he was blushing from head to toe.

"Tell Gunnlod no thanks." he said. The child ran off, and they could both see the message getting delivered. All along the walls, people were tucking themselves in. Gunnlod listened to her child, shrugged her shoulders and picked up the last two baby goats from the small herd resting on the floor. She brought them over to the old gaunt man sleeping closest to the door and tucked them in at his foot end. He smiled with his toothless mouth and thanked her profusely. When Peter looked around, he noticed that many of the cots were provided with goats for warmth.

"Damn it!" Peter said.

"Don't blame me, I would have said yes." Wade said. "But I'll rather suffer a chilly sleep than take the hot spots away from the poor old geezer."

In the middle of the night, Peter woke up shivering. He had underestimated how cold it was going to be. He wasn't in danger or anything, it was just uncomfortably cold. He tried to pull the blanket closer around him but it only helped a little. The feet were the worst, so he pulled them up under his butt. Better but more uncomfortable. Then he figured he could take some of the straw from under his headrest and pack it around his feet. Eager to improve the situation, he grabbed large fistfuls of the straw - and almost touched Wades head. He kept still.

Wades head was so warm. He had the mask on except for the chin and mouth, and was breathing peacefully. Peter felt even colder than before, in comparison. It was stupid, it was really stupid, but he stretched out his hands to hover over Wades head to warm them. It felt like it worked, too, but he was freezing much more than that. Assured by Wades slow breathing, Peter dared to put his hands on Wades shoulders. Pleasure flowed from his fingers and up through his arms from the warmth.

"Szznork . . . Spidey?"

"Oh, uh, hey."

"Why'd you wake me, whazza matter?" Deadpool said sleepily. Peter was much too embarrassed to admit that he had touched Deadpool's shoulders to warm his hands. It was easier to go with the flow and pretend he had intended to wake him.

"Uh, do you have a spare blanket or something? It's cold."

"Sorry, I gave away my extras. But climb in with me, I'll scoot over. Snug as a bug in a rug." Deadpool said. "C'mon, I've got plenty of spare heat, my mitochondria are working overtime."

Peter hesitated, but Deadpool moved his body up against the wall to make half the bunk available, so he did it. He slipped into the mercenary's bed as if was something perfectly ordinary, something friends do. It was wonderfully cosy. Deadpool was soon snoring, and Peter fell asleep on his side, facing away from his bedfellow.

Peter often had vivid dreams, but somehow Spider-Man's dreams were more intense. It was probably a great topic for some psychology student's term paper, but Peter didn't like to dwell on the fact that his subconscious wants, fears and needs were different depending on who he was at the time. A recurring theme in Peter's dreams, especially when he had been scared or stressed, was a sweet and comforting someone-to-watch-over-me. It happened a lot, and always starred someone he knew. This person took a position of power that meant Peter had no more responsibilities. Sometimes it was short and simple (Iron Man Had flown him away from so many explosions in dreams), sometimes elaborate (once he had been Natasha's under qualified secretary that couldn't be trusted with anything important). It wasn't always superheroes, one time he had dreamt he was the talented and spoiled son of his college professor instead of an ordinary student. Whatever the scenario, it was always a situation that meant Peter could relax and put his feet up, since he was taken care of. Sweet dreams indeed.

He took the elevator up to the tenth floor.

He used his own keys to open the door.

He put his bag of books on a chair that was placed there just so he would have somewhere to put his bag. On the coat hanger was plenty of space for his jacket. Well-fed geraniums were blossoming on the windowsill.

"I'm home!" Peter shouted.

"Welcome home, darling!" The answer came from the kitchen. "Have a seat in the living room, dinner will be ready in twenty minutes."

"What is it?" Peter said and slumped down in a huge floral-printed sofa.

"A surprise. I put all your clean clothes in your wardrobe, if you want to change. No? I stopped by aunt May's place today and brought her stuff from the farmer's market, we chatted for an hour or so. Oh, and I proofread your paper for tomorrow. It's on your desk, but there was nothing you needed to fix."

"Great." Peter said. Wade came out of the kitchen wearing what Peter knew was the frilliest of his several frilly aprons. It said 'kill kiss the cook' in blue letters. He wasn't wearing his mask, and his smile was beaming like sunshine.

"So how about a kiss for your busy home-maker? No, no, don't get up, you look tired." Wade came up to Peter and bent down for a quick kiss. And a second one, not quite so quick. And a third, long and lingering. He kneeled on the floor between Peter's legs and enveloped him in a huge, bone-crushing hug. Peter felt as if his long to-do list was erased with a strong squeeze. Wade kissed Peter lightly on the ear and whispered.

"Now, how about I take proper care of my toy boy?" In the dream, Peter totally expected this to happen. It was a habit, and he always looked forward to this moment of the day. The moment when Wade would stroke Peter's thighs with his strong hands, unbutton the fly and take Peter's cock out and swipe the precum with the tip of his tongue and . . .

Peter woke up.

It was dark. He lay against Deadpool's back, spooning him. Peter had a hard-on that was no ordinary morning wood, and it was pressing hard against Deadpool's round butt. Peter's entire body was flush against Deadpool, who had moved towards the middle of the bed in his sleep, leaving Peter with no room to turn away. He was squeezed between a hard plank on one side and the almost as hard, muscular back of a very dangerous man on the other. And he was so turned on. His skin felt like it was pulsating against the warm body in front of him. Peter's face was close to the tear in the suit at Deadpool's shoulder, hastily mended with staples. It smelled of blood, it was a strong, ferrous odour. It could have been horrifying, but to Peter it smelled like life. Warm, ever-lasting life, which would never run out. The musk escaping from the exposed skin on Deadpool's neck was making Peter feel drunk and he breathed in and in until his head was swimming. All this from a wet dream? He was sweating all over and there was no doubt the fabric over his crotch was wetter than the rest. Peter didn't dare to move a muscle. Partly because he was afraid to wake Deadpool, partly because he was afraid even a slight bit of friction would make him come. His hard-on was leaning to the left, throbbing with his pulse and creating a minute friction on its own.

He had to make the erection go away. Peter tried to calm his weeping cock, tried to remember the password for his old DeviantArt account, which he forgot years ago. Thinking about Jameson screaming at him. About freezing to death. After all, he couldn't just dry-hump Deadpool in his sleep, that was more than creepy. If Deadpool woke up and noticed, he would be angry.

Ha, no.

Of course not. Deadpool had made it obvious that he had a thing for Spider-Man. If he woke up and noticed, he would just smirk, reach down and . . .

Fuuuuuck!

Peter tumbled out of the bunk and swung into his own, unseen, 0.001 seconds before he creamed his underwear.

Chapter 5: Gone Fishin' Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

A week had passed. The weather was better but the temperature was still below freezing, even in the middle of the day when the sun was shining. After talking with the gaunt old man – who was very talkative – both Peter and Wade had learned a lot. It was late march and spring was unusually late. Everybody was restless, because after a long winter spent mostly indoors, there was very little left to do. Everything that could be whittled was already whittled. All blades, knifes, axes, needles and chisels had been whetted. There was no more yarn to do any weaving – as the oldest woman in the house kept complaining about. A minor fight had actually broken out regarding who would get the privilege to mend Deadpool's suit. He had spent half a day under a blanket before he got it back, not only mended but with a red-on-red embroidery of a serpent covering the tears. Every story had been told too many times, and people had complained so much that the storyteller had retreated to his own small house as soon as the temperature had allowed it. The guard dogs had learned SO many stupid tricks. Everybody was eager for this winter to end.

At least the meals were something to do. Everything was meticulously prepared. If it could be sliced, it was sliced leaf thin. If it could be baked, it was baked to perfection. However, the variation was not great. Broths, soups, porridges and bread, with or without meat added. There were no vegetables to be seen, but Peter had found out from the old man that they farmed kale, leek, carrots, turnips and a great number of herbs but that they never lasted through the winter. Dried apples, cherries and berries had run out a month ago. Wade was eating a lot, as he always did. They were sitting at the table and Gunnlod has just given him a second bowl.

"Wade . . . did you notice something very strange just now?" Peter said.

"Hmmm . . . no."

"A PREGNANT WOMAN just gave her own ration to you when you asked for seconds."

"Do you mean it's contagious? Will I get preggers? Oh my, I don't think I'm ready for this."

"No, dumbass! I mean she's probably hungry herself, why did she give her own away?" Peter said. Gunnlod walked around the room, refilling mugs with a broth that was mostly hot water.

When the meal was over, Peter went to see her. He had a feeling this could be a touchy subject, but he didn't want to ignore it. He knew a lot about having too little.

"Gunnlod, most generous hostess." Peter said, trying to make a good impression. "Tell me, are we as guests eating too much? Do the children get what they need?"

Gunnlod straightened, her face frowning and unreadable as always.

"Of course they do! There is no problem. You both have had the fortune of coming to a wealthy house where guests are received properly." Gunnlod said.

"Sooo . . . no problem?"

"None at all. Besides, the winter is almost over and the boats will return."

"The ice is still thick, Gunnlod." Peter said. She didn't answer, which left him to draw his own conclusions.

The small store house was a grey wood structure, elavated from the ground to keep vermin out. The door at the top of the ladder was locked, and Spider-Man and Deadpool had seen the key in Gunnlod's belt. On the other side of the house was a small aperture for air, but it was much too small to climb through. After some discussion, the team had a plan. Spider-Man whisked them up to the edge of the thatched roof. Deadpool put his feet on the ledge of the aperture, grabbed the roof, and lifted. With a great deal of creaking, the roof bent and gave, so that a slit opened between the roof and the wall. Spider-Man crawled through it upside-down. Deadpool tried to follow but settled for getting his upper body inside, then letting go of the roof again.

"Are you okay like that?" Spider-Man said.

"Well, if we're not staying long. Besides, I need to fart so I'll keep my butt outdoors."

Spider-Man lifted lids, finding nothing or next to nothing in the barrels and baskets. Some barley, a little bit of dry beans. The ceiling was rigged with a rack of bars, on which large round flatbread loaves hung. But there were twenty such bars, with room for hundreds of loaves, and only eleven left. If these were the winter supplies, they were running out.

"But why is she lying?" Deadpool said.

"I guess she doesn't consider starvation a good enough reason to break tradition. She has to feed the guests well." Spider-Man said. "Especially, I think, when said guests are big, strong men that might go berserk if they feel slighted."

"I would never do that!" Deadpool said. Spider-Man looked sceptical. "Not on innocent civilians, anyway." Deadpool added.

"Well, she doesn't know that." Spider-Man was deep in thought, and then he looked up. "You know what, Deadpool?"

"No, what?"

"It's wabbit season!"

"Duck season!" Deadpool shouted.

"Wabbit season! Do you have a gun I could use?"

"Oh, Spidey, I thought you'd never ask."

"Stop touching yourself and sit still!" Spider-Man whispered. They were both hiding behind a juniper bush, heavy with snow, and ready to ambush any prey that would enter the trap. They had set up web snares in a glen where they had seen plenty of hoof prints, and Deadpool had rigged some stun bombs.

"I'm not touching myself . . . not much. I just needed to adjust a bit." Deadpool said. "I can't help getting stiff, not with you holding my gun like that."

"Like what?"

"Tightly in your hand. Your slim, strong, agile hand. The way it's closing around the metal . . . so hot." Deadpool started moaning.

"Quiet!"

"But you need to change your grip a bit." Deadpool pointed at Spider-Man's hand. "Here, put you other hand around here, support with both, and cover this gap."

"Like this?" Spider-Man was still whispering.

"Oooh yeah, now move them up and down . . . slowly . . ." Deadpool grinned.

"Jerk!" Spider-Man said, and slapped him lightly.

"Quiet."

A moose had triggered the entire line of stun bombs and the snowy glen looked like strawberry sherbet, the way it was covered in blood, moose entrails and bits of meat.

"In my defence, I would like to mention that Canadian moose have a much lower centre of gravity." Deadpool said.

After deciding that no prey would come close after a spectacle like that, the team decided to try fishing. They found a panhandle of land and tried the north side of it. An adequate explosion later, there was a large hole in the ice and stunned fish floated on the surface. Spider-Man took the job of getting them out. As Spider-Man was webbing the bubbot and cod together in bundles, he suddenly became aware that Deadpool was silent. This was rare, and he looked around to see why. The man was gone. Spider-Man stood up but saw nothing. He didn't want to shout, if Deadpool was silent for a good reason. There were some bare alders on land, and Spider-Man shot some web to climb them. On the other side of the panhandle he saw Deadpool, With one of his katanas ready to strike a blow . . . on a seal.

Spider-Man shot another web and pulled at the handle of the sword, accidentally lopping off Deadpool's thumb.

"OW! What the fuck, dude?"

"Hey, try to keep your canadian instincts down and don't go clubbing seals! They're an endangered species." Spider-man said.

"No, they're not!" Deadpool said, picking up a piece of his glove. The thumb had bounced further away.

"What? Yes they are, I signed a petition once." Spider-Man said.

"They WILL BE endangered. They are not endangered now." Deadpool bent to retrieve his thumb but the seal was faster, and it swallowed the bloody digit with a gulp. Spider-Man realised Deadpool was right.

"Shit. Sorry, Wade. I didn't think . . . and I didn't mean to hurt you . . . go ahead then, I won't stop you."

"Nah, it would be weird now. He ate me, I don't want to eat him. He won. How much fish did we get?" Deadpool said.

"Thirty-eight and a half."

"Half?"

"Yeah, just the tail end of one." Peter said. They walked over to the bundles and started to pick them up when Deadpool suddenly stopped.

"OH MY GOD!" Deadpool shouted, clasping his head in his hands. "DO YOU REALISE WHAT THIS MEANS?"

"No?"

Deadpool held the half fish in front of his crotch. "MY CODPIECE IS MISSING!" He fell down in the snow laughing. Spider-Man started laughing too, despite trying to resist it. Not before they were exhausted from a lack of air could they gather their wits enough to go home.

Chapter 6: Bog Butter Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

They gave the fish to the women, and Gunnlod waved discreetly to Spider-Man and Deadpool to talk in private.

"Thank you very much, I will gladly accept this gift." she said. "But tell me, where did you find a hole in the ice large enough for this catch? We have not been able to fish for some time."

"We didn't find the hole, we made it." Deadpool said.

"You were able to make a hole in ice this thick?"

"Yes?"

"Then come with me." She threw on a hooded coat and mittens, grabbed a shovel and took Spider-Man and Deadpool with her.

It was quite a walk, took them close to an hour through the woods. The snow was thick and loose and it slowed them down. They came to an area of flat ground where the pine trees were old but tiny. Gunnlod took a long string and tied it to a tree with cut markings on the trunk. Then she walked across a treeless area to a trunk on the other side, which had similar markings. Then they all returned to the middle of the string, where there was a knot. Gunnlod started digging in the snow and uncovered ice that was green with moss.

"Under here, buried in the bog, is a cache. Barrels of butter, honey jars, and cheeses sealed in cloth. They last forever deep in the peat. Last winter we didn't need any, but we added more this fall since we had abundance. There should be plenty," she said.

"And now you can't get at them because the ground frost goes too deep?" Deadpool said. Gunnlod nodded.

"All right, ma'am." Deadpool cracked his knuckles. "Would you mind going back to the house while Spider-Man and I do this?"

"Why?" she said.

"Um." Deadpool looked pleadingly at Spider-Man, hoping that he would come up with a reasonable excuse. The real reason was that Deadpool didn't want to show his explosives. Spider-Man's brain was frantically spinning and the wheel of fortune stopped on:

"Well, we're going to need to get naked. To get into proper berserk mood. You know." Spider-Man said. Gunnlod nodded as if this was understandable and left.

"How large an explosion do you think would give minimal damage to the food?" Spider-Man said.

"So we're not gonna get naked?"

"No."

"Awwww . . . "

After a muffled detonation and some digging, they were done. Spider-Man webbed the canisters in two huge bundles they could carry on their shoulders. Left behind them was an empty pit in the frozen bog, with a couple of broken jars. One of them had contained honey, and a brave fox that had been watching them for a while was already approaching it. Deadpool had taken a large pottery shard with honey on and was licking it as they walked.

"Grade A team-up, Spidey! One of the best – which is surprising since we didn't stop any bad guys at all. A fine days work with only minimal mutilation." Deadpool said, wiggling his new thumb.

"Yes, about that." Spider-Man said. He stopped, put the bundle down and turned around to face Deadpool. "I'm so sorry."

"You already said that. I regenerate, remember?"

"But still. I owe you a lot, and . . . I feel bad that I hurt you."

"Spidey. It's – No – Big – Deal."

"But . . ."

"Tell you what. Kiss and make it better?" Deadpool said, taking the shard in his other hand and holding out the thumb to Spider-Man's face.

Spider-Man looked at it. This was part of their ordinary banter, Deadpool had suggested all sorts of kissing before, sometimes after complete dismemberment. Spider-Man's answer was either a joke or an eye roll. But now, he took the hand and brought it closer to his face. The glove smelled of peat and honey. The thumb was a pinkish red, the newly formed nail immaculate. Spider-Man pressed his lips on it softly.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds and this is already much too long and impossible to ignore as a joke or anything and oh god why did I do this and I want to . . .

Spider-Man parted his lips and stuck the tip of his tongue out to touch the nail. He wiped it slowly along the cuticle and around the thumb to the soft side. The scarred skin was so thin, it felt like an eyelid. Deadpool didn't move at all. Spider-Man pulled back, letting go of the hand. Deadpool still didn't move, just kept staring at his thumb.

"The . . . the honey is really good." Spider-Man said.

" . . ."

"We should go now." Spider-Man said.

" . . ."

Deadpool and Spider-Man didn't speak at all on the way home. Deadpool was talking to himself but it was too low for Spider-Man to hear. Fortunately, the dogs had come to meet them and their happy barking put an end to the uncomfortable silence. When they were back in the village, Gunnlod had unlocked the door of the storehouse and motioned at them to bring the food up the ladder. They unloaded the goods and Gunnlod took inventory and decided what would be brought inside the hall immediately. Two girls came to fetch it.

"I need to thank you again. I will go and oversee the cooking, and these two have something for you." Gunnlod said, indicating two women that were standing nearby, smiling at the men.

"We have the steam house ready for you." said the tallest, who looked around thirty and had a birthmark under the left eye that looked almost like a teardrop tattoo.

"Yeah! So you two can go there and we'll come and scrub you good!" said the other one. She was short and muscular, but her voice made her sound like a teenager. Maybe she was. Gunnlod frowned at her, and she looked scolded.

"I mean . . . so you can go there one at a time to scrub and get clean. Alone."

It was clear that Gunnlod had discussed the strange shy habits of the foreigners with the others.

"Where?" Deadpool said. He followed the women past the jetty, to a tiny house right at the edge of the ice, where smoke and steam billowed from the hole in the roof. As he walked, he unbuckled his belt and sword straps, seemingly in a hurry. Spider-Man watched him duck in through the low door, and saw it open a moment later when Deadpool hung his suit on a peg outside.

The steam house was so tiny that Wade couldn't stand up straight, and hot as a furnace. There was a wooden bench and a large barrel of cold water. There was also a thick bundle of mint leaves and some other herb Wade didn't recognise and wouldn't spend two brain cells on even if he did.

He had to jerk off NOW.

Wade plopped down on the bench and started masturbating furiously. He had been achingly hard since Peter took his hand to kiss his thumb. Wade pressed his thumbnail against his own lips to recreate the sensation.

"Peter . . ." Wade moaned.

He came as soon as he said it, his sperm splashing on the hot stones with a sizzle that filled the air with a burned, fleshy scent he hadn't smelled before. He was already wet all over from sweat and condensed steam. He poured a scoop of water on the stones to get more steam and four scoops over himself to rinse off. Hygiene was not one of his hobbies, but this time he had a purpose. He was a man with a plan. He didn't always have one, in fact his success sometimes depended on the fact that he didn't have one, but today was different. He had detected awkward Spider-flirting, and he was not about to let that gold nugget go unclaimed. This was more or less the 'alone on a desert island' trope, right? Well, except the place wasn't deserted, but still. Total rom-com material. Perhaps, just perhaps, Peter was desperate enough to consider a liaison with this side of prime beef. Deadpool ignored a suggestion from his boxes that he could try to tell Spider-Man how he felt. He knew better than to trust their advice! Clearly, this situation called for a convoluted ruse.

Step one: we jerk off (a necessity).

Step two: get cleaned up.

Step three: jerk off again, in case we need to impress Peter with our stamina later.

Step four: try to be casual tomorrow when we suggest . . .

Step five: . . . the thul.

Chapter 7: We Need Porn Notes:

Large parts of Skirnismal are canon, but please note that I have added extra smut. Don't use it in an essay.

Chapter Text

"Do you know what I miss, Spidey-Butt?" Deadpool said, as they were sitting on a log outside the main hall. The sun felt nice and the temperature was getting closer to the thawing point. Another hour, and the snow on the roof would start dripping. Spider-Man was making kindling while Deadpool was whittling a stick down to nothing with the dagger from his boot. Deadpool had tried to show off his best assets, streching out his legs into the snow drift just in Spider-Man's line of sight, leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms behind his neck, but to no avail. Awkward Spider-Man flirting was not forthcoming on its own. That meant a go-ahead on the plan.

"Toilet paper?" Spider-Man said.

"No."

"Electric lights, ice cream, motor vehicles, Golden Girls, mexican food?"

"No. Well, yes to all that, but not what I was thinking."

"What, then?"

"Porn." Deadpool sighed.

"Oh. Well . . . I see."

"It wouldn't have to be filmed, but pictures would be nice. I'd settle for plain text, even." Deadpool said. Spider-Man didn't answer.

"But the only entertainment system they've got here is the thul." Deadpool said.

"What . . . what is a thul?" Spider-Man asked.

"The storyteller or whatever. I've tried to figure out what he does exactly, but it seems to be complicated. He tells stories, he recites poetry, but he apparently also mumbles long-ass spells and stuff that goes on for hours and hours and has some sort of religious significance that I don't get. The old dude got tight-lipped as an Aldebaran shellmouth when I asked about that part. Thul-teller guy Torbjörn got his own cabin over there. " Deadpool said and pointed.

"Okay . . . so they don't have porn." Spider-Man said.

"Oh COME ON! Was there ever a media system in the history of mankind that was not used for porn? Let's go." Deadpool said.

"Go?"

"I want to prove that I'm right."

The small house that belonged to the thul stood between the brewing house and the smaller of the two barns. The thul's house looked nothing special, and Deadpool knocked on the door and entered. Inside were a hearth, a cot, and a large table littered with neat-looking sticks, pieces of rib bones and small tools. Bundles of marked sticks hung from pegs on the walls. There were also large sculptures in wood, and small ones in ivory and amber. At the table sat a man. He had a fluffy beard that would have made any hipster proud, and was probably not older than thirty-five. He was tying up a new bundle of marked sticks with leather string.

"Gunnlod's new berserks? So what do you want? he said.

"We . . . we're not berserks." Spider-Man said.

"Dude, we totally are." Deadpool said.

"I'm not! Maybe you."

"Nu-uh, both or nothing. You're stronger than me." Deadpool said. Spider-Man was about to reply when the thul interrupted.

"I said, what do you want?"

To Spider-Man's surprise, the thul did not think Deadpool's request was in any way remarkable. He had stated they wanted to hear a sexy story, sexy enough to get off to. Torbjörn waved to the bench and the newly appointed berserks sat down. The bench was short so they had to sit thigh-to-thigh. Spider-Man suddenly realised what the place reminded him of. A record store. A pretentious, small vinyl record store with a proprietor that was judging you and your poor taste in music. Torbjörn was looking at the bundles and reached out to touch one of them.

"How about Loki and the burned witch?"

"No!"

"No, I agree. Happy ending please." Deadpool said. The thul pointed to another bundle.

"Loki and the stallion?"

"No! Maybe not Loki at all?" Spider-man said. Torbjörn looked annoyed.

"If you have any OTHER specific requests, could you two please just say so from the start?" Torbjörn said.

"Apologies, my good man! Of course we should. I suggest the following search criteria: consent, happy ending, no underage, no bestiality, true love." Deadpool said. He looked at Spider-Man, who feebly nodded in agreement. Torbjörn was lost in thought for a moment, and then brought up a small pouch. He put it on the table and took out a diminutive gold plate, no bigger than a stamp. On the gold plate was a stylized picture of a man, standing on tip-toe to kiss a woman.

"Frey and Gerd." He said confidently. "The god of all growing things and the Jotun woman that became everything for him." He grabbed a bundle from the wall, untied the string and laid out the flat sticks to form a solid square with the rhunes facing up. It was not a great number of rhunes, it had to be bullet points rather than a full script.

"Please take it from the top, Torbjörn. Keep in mind that we're not from around here so you'd be wise to give us some backstory." Deadpool said, and put his hands under his chin is a listening pose. The thul cleared his throat and started talking in verse.

Frey, the son of Njord,

sat one day on the all-fathers throne,

where he was not allowed,

to look over all the worlds.

He looked into Jotunheim,

and saw there a fair maiden,

as she went from her father's house

across the yard.

Forthwith he . . .

"Whoa, whoa! Stop there, Torbjörn. Are you just gonna hurry over this bit?" Deadpool said.

"What bit?". Torbjörn said.

"You just said 'a fair maiden'. Details, dude, details! Let's hear some more about this. What was so special about this one? Where is the sexy?"

Torbjörn did not seem to be offended, but considerered it. He pushed the first stick up a bit to make an empty space between it and the second one, as if to leave a metaphorical room for details.

Fair was she, and golden.

Large and mighty was this jotun,

as the sun she was radient.

Her skirt was as a thin veil of cloud

across the moon at night.

A pail in her hand

she crossed the yard to the well

and as she bent down over the side

did Frey rise from the seat

to better stare into the moon.

"How's that?" Torbjörn asked.

"Much, much better." Deadpool said, leaned back and put his hands on his thighs.

But Frey was startled

from his illicit wiew

as the all-father returned

Frey had to leave his love.

Forthwith he felt a mighty love-sickness.

Stayed in his chambers

took no food or drink

and plagued by a hardness

that never left him.

"Ho HO! I bet he tried to jerk it!" Deadpool said.

"As much as I appreciate the comments, I think the immersion will be greater if you did not say them out loud." Torbjörn said, not unkindly. He raked some ashes over the fire to make the room darker before he continued. It felt as if they had been here a long time already, in this room built for listening.

Skirnir was Frey's servant.

Skirnir said:

"Tell the truth, Frey,

foremost of the gods,

For now I fain would know;

Why do you sit here,

in the wide halls,

days long, my prince, alone?"

Frey said:

"How shall I tell you,

such a young hero,

of all my grief so great?

Though every day

the elfbeam dawns,

It lights my longing never."

Skirnir said:

"Your longings, I think,

are not so large

That you cannot not tell them to me;

Since in days of yore

we were young together,

We two might each other trust."

Frey said:

"From Gymir's house

I saw go out

A maiden dear to me;

Her arms glittered,

and from their gleam

Shone all the sea and sky."

Deadpool leaned closer to Spider-Man and rolled up his mask to whisper into his ear.

"Did you also notice that these guys seems to have a thing for arms? The ladies wear bracelets around their biceps and go sleeveless a lot."

Wade's breath was hot against Spider-Man's ear, and he shuddered, trying unsuccessfully to mask it as a shake of the head. This house was warmer than the others. Peter took his mask off.

"To me more dear

than in days of old

Was ever maiden to man;

But no one of gods

or elves will grant

That we both together should be."

Skirnir said:

Indeed a Jotun woman

is not a wise choice

for the god of all harvest.

Can your seed not be sewn

here in Asgard?

Frey said:

Behold my burden, Skirnir.

Never in my life

have I been this heavy with longing.

– And he bared himself.

Skinir said:

Truly, your manhood reaches your beard,

large as a third arm

longer than your sword.

A Jotun woman must it be.

Torbjörn had now moved four sticks but there were many left. Wade glanced sideways and caught sight of a beautifully blushing Peter, and when he saw the slight bulge between Peter's legs he tuned out Torbjörn completely.

. . .

"Then lend me your horse

that goes through the dark

. . .

Yes! Baby-Boy got a thing for big dicks! Oh sweet heathen fertility gods, this is my chance. I may not have much to offer, but I've got that.

Chapter 8: Come Here Chapter Text

Torbjörn had taken out a shallow drum, the size of a soup plate, and placed it on the table next to the sticks he was reading from. At the end of every verse, he gave it a small thump with the heel of his hand to mark a rhythm. I felt like a slow heartbeat. The story continued with how Skirnir borrowed Frey's horse and sword, and rode to see Gerd loaded with precious gifts. Wade and Peter sat quiet on the bench, thighs touching.

Skirnir said to the horse:

"Dark is it without,

and I deem it time

To fare through the wild fells,

We shall both come back,

or us both together

The terrible jotun will take."

*Thump*

Peter swallowed his spit in tune with the drum. He was still blushing, he could feel his ears burning. The verse where Frey bared his manhood had made his soul turn upside-down. In his mind, he had pictured Wade, sweaty and suffering on his bed, trusting his old friend so much that he would show him . . .

Show him . . .

Just – took it out in the open – and . . .

. . . and gave him . . . full access . . .

Asking for HELP . . . with his . . . confiding in his friend . . . trusting him to . . .

His head was a whirlwind of fragmented thoughts. Peter knew he was done for. If he had been that friend, he would never have gone on the journey. He would have taken everything for himself. He never knew he could want something this badly before. From an unknown thing to the most important thing in his life in one second. Peter swallowed again. His whole body was tight as a bowstring, and when he felt a light touch on the small of his back, he yelped and was suddenly on the ceiling. He looked down from the sooty beams and saw Wade with his hands up in an apologetic gesture. Torbjörn, on the other hand, had closed his eyes when reciting and so hadn't noticed the spider-reflexes. Peter dropped back down without a sound and sat beside Wade again.

"Sorry. Won't happen again." Wade whispered. Peter felt a lump in his throat. Did he just ruin everything? So much for being a friend to confide in, when he couldn't even be touched without overreacting.

"No, please . . . that's okay." Peter whispered. He had missed at least four verses.

Gerd said:

"Bid the man come in,

and drink good mead

here within our hall;

Though this I fear, that there without

My brother's slayer stands.

*Thump*

Wade had moves like a teen at the cinema, stretching his right arm behind Peter's back and letting it hover in the air. Despite the reassurance, he was afraid to startle Peter again, and didn't dare to touch him. Blocked by indecision he remained still, holding his breath until his arm started to tremble. A shudder ran down Peter's spine and Wade threw caution aside and took Peter into a one-armed embrace. They gasped in unison, so intense was the contact.

Skirnir said:

"Eleven apples,

all of gold,

Here will I give thee, Gerd,

To buy your troth

that Frey shall be

Deemed to be dearest to you."

*Thump*

Gerd said:

"I will not take

at any man's wish

These eleven apples ever;

Nor shall Frey and I

one dwelling find

So long as we two live."

*Thump*

Peter put his hand on Wade's right thigh lightly. First just the fingertips, then he lowered his palm onto the surface. Wade's leg muscles bulged up so much from the touch that the leather strap on the holster creaked.

Awkward flirting is BACK! Oh thank you thank you. Right. Stay focused, smooth and calm. Don't faint, for example. Fainting is not in the plan. The plan is to to to to toooooooohhhhhhh . . .

Peter had moved his hand along Wade's thigh, almost an entire inch.

Plan, plan, plan. Think, Wilson, think. What was the plan again? Step 1 . . . something.

He looked down at the red-gloved hand on his thigh. Wade's erection strained against his trousers – he had deliberately decided to forego the codpiece. Slightly to the left, it was making a very favourable impression through the fabric. Wade had checked it the same morning to see that there weren't any fresh tumours. Scarring was one thing, but the cancer could get gnarly and that was not a great first impression.

Impression! Yes, that was it. Impress him with your big dick!

Skirnir said:

"Do you see, maiden,

this keen, bright sword

That I hold here in my hand?

Your head from your neck

shall I straightway hew,

If you will not do my will."

*Thump*

Gerd said:

"For no man's sake

will I ever suffer

To be moved by might;

But gladly, I think,

I will my father seek

To fight if he finds you here."

*Thump*

Wade would have rooted for Gerd and her ability to not be bought or forced, if his ears had not been filled with the pounding of his own pulse. Now that the stage was set, he was getting cold feet. Would this really work? Was this not more like sending an unsolicited dick-pic?

*Thump*

Well, fuck it. Here goes.

Wade reached for his belt buckle with his left hand, keeping his right one around Peter's back. He undid the belt slowly, trying to see Peter's expression out of the corner of his eye. He unzipped with a trembling heart and folded the fabric aside, pulling down the (by now rather dirty) underwear to reveal his in all honesty very impressive cock. The scarring only enhanced the penis-ness, making it redder, veinier and with more ridges than normal. Peter took his hand away.

Wade's heart fell.

But the hand was soon back, but now without the glove. The hand did a spider-walk along Wade's thigh all the way over to the hairless base of Wade's erection. Wade flinched so hard he fell off the bench. He held on to Peter's waist and pulled himself up, only to come face to face with a Peter he almost couldn't recognise. His eyes were wild and dark.

*Thump*

"Why are you showing me your dick?" Peter's whispering voice was hoarse.

"Eeeep." Wade's voice was a chicken squawk.

"You want me to help you with it?"

Wade nodded. This was not going as planned and at the same time going better than he could have hoped for. Peter closed his hand around Wade's shaft and squeezed just right, making Wade moan. Torbjörn opened one eye slightly at the sound but didn't miss a beat in the reciting.

*Thump*

"With three-headed giants

you shall always dwell,

Or never know a husband;

Let longing grip you.

Be like the thistle

that in the loft

Was cast and there was crushed.

*Thump*

The room was darker now, the embers only glowing. Peter looked at Wade's dick, seeing his precum glitter as it ran down in a tiny rivulet to reach Peter's hand. He smeared it with his index finger. Wade was shaking. He was so thick in Peter's grip, and his own cock gave a soft jerk. He shifted in his seat, only to find that it only made his own situation worse. Wade moved his arm from around Peter's back to rest on his crotch instead. Peter bit back a groan as Wade's fingers stroked up and down through the spandex, a taste of what was to come. Wade set a slow pace, and Peter could imagine what his hand would feel like once there was no fabric to separate them.

"Take off the glove, now." Peter whispered.

Peter began to move his hand up and down, stopping at the head to feel along the scarred tip. He rubbed around and around, taking pride when Wade's hips were gyrating along with his movements.

*Thump*

Wade had taken his glove off as ordered and was sneaking under Peter's trousers, combing his fingers through the hair. Suddenly he took his hand away. Peter was self-conscious of his own heavy breathing for a few long seconds, before he realized that Wade had only paused to spit in his hand. The spit made the sound of his hand even more obscene. The pleasure that shot through Peter's body made his own movements erratic and he lost his rhythm on Wade's cock. He was much too close already.

"Wade! Oh fuck!" Peter bit down on his right arm to quiet himself as he came in Wade's hand.

"Peter, please don't stop . . . don't stop, oh please." Wade whimpered. Peter's grip had loosened after he came and his muscles wouldn't obey him now. His fist was loose and Wade was fucking into it, putting his own hand to cover Peter's.

"Don't leave me hanging here, Petey . . . please let me come, oh sweet gods, please . . . I need it, Peter please . . ." Wade was begging out loud now, without a care for anything else. It was the hottest thing Peter had ever heard in his life, and he was eager to help. So eager. He took his own come from Wade's hand and used it to lubricate his grip around Wade. A few more strong strokes, and Wade dissolved into a strangled growl. He came, gasping and shuddering as he listened to Peter's still-ragged breathing. There was a sizzle and a burned, fleshy smell that Wade was familiar with now.

Frey said:

"Tell me, Skirnir,

before you take off the saddle,

Or take forward a step:

What have you done

in the giants' dwelling

To make glad you or me?"

*Thump*

Skirnir said:

"The glen called Barri,

which we both know well,

A forest fair and still;

And nine nights hence

to the son of Njord

Will Gerd there grant delight."

*Thump*

Frey said:

"Long is one night,

longer are two;

How then shall I bear three?

Often to me

has a month seemed less

Than now half a night of desire."

The sudden absence of a drum beat after the verse made both Peter and Wade look up. The show was over. Torbjörn was sitting down at the table again, not looking at them but at the sticks. Peter was incredibly grateful for this, since he sat there with a hand full of mixed come and his trousers down. He hastened to make himself presentable, pulling the mask on as well, and Wade did the same.

Peter felt dazed, and walked out without a word. Wade picked up his belt and was walking towards the door, but he turned around to talk to the thul.

"Top-notch stuff, that. Major kudos, dude. You – uh – you should write that down. Your additions, I mean. Sorry if I'm not very communicative at the moment, but – uh – bit wobbly here." Wade said. Torbjörn just nodded, but he was holding some blank sticks and was adding them to the others.

As Wade stepped outside, he was blinded by the light. He had forgotten it was daytime, noon even, and the snowy landscape gave off a white glare that made him squint. Spider-Man was standing there, looking towards the sea.

"So – what did ya think?" Wade asked. Spider-Man didn't answer, and that made Wade very nervous. Here comes the regret.

"Pretty hypnotizing, don't you agree? Sort of makes a guy do stuff he later can't really believe he did, right? Well, maybe it didn't! What happens in 10th century, stays in 10th century and all that." Wade said.

Spider-Man pulled up his mask again and jumped at Wade, knocking him backwards in the snow. First the regret, and here comes the beating. Wade thought.

But Peter kissed him.

Chapter 9: Boobs, Bath and Beyond Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Peter kissed him.

Wade's face was wide-eyed under the mask. Peter brushed his thumb gently over Wade's chin, the thin skin of the scarred surface wrinkling like silk under his touch. Peter closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the mouth of the merc. He felt the tension leave Wade as he heard him moan softly, tilting his head to get a better angle. Peter placed his hands beside Wade's shoulders in the snow and he deepened the kiss, opening his mouth slightly, flicking his tongue against Wade's lips. Wade whimpered when Peter bit lightly at his lower lip and he let out a needy moan. Peter smiled into the kiss, he loved it when Wade was needy. He could feel Wade's hands on his back, slowly making their way down and grabbing his butt. Peter marvelled at how much he had wanted to do this. How much he craved it. He broke the kiss again, panting slightly. He sat up, remaining seated right on Wade's hips. Wade was hard again and so was he, and he was grinding against Wade as if he had been practising this his entire life.

"I can't believe this . . . what have you done to me?" Peter said.

"Not to mark words, but I'm pretty sure YOU are doing it to me right now."

"But, I mean, I'm not gay."

"No, fine, sure. No problem. Just you rubbing your dick against mine in a totally straight way. No homo." Wade said. Peter snorted.

"Jerk-face. I mean I never considered myself gay."

"Well, coming to terms with who you are and what you are can be a chALLenge and it's a lot to consiDER and I would really like to heEEElp you out and all and maybe dISCuss this and helping you consider this challenge and COOOming to terms with it and it's a challENGe to consider and I can't really THInk as long as you are grinding like thAT." Wade rambled, his voice taking a high note every time Peter pushed down.

"So I should stop?"

"NoO."

Peter felt good about this. Not only the good feeling that came from half the blood in his body gathering in his groin, but also a notion that good things would come from this. He had been conflicted, he hadn't known what to do, but he had taken the plunge and all was well. He let the ecstasy of free falling wash over him, trusting himself make a perfect superhero landing.

Peter noticed footsteps in the snow, coming closer. He had been gathering plenty of experience on the sound of footsteps in snow by now, and knew which conditions would render them almost inaudible (fresh, cold and fluffy snow) and which would emphasize them with crunching (cold and grainy snow) or thumping (warm and heavy snow). Maybe thumping wasn't the right word, but it felt right. The footsteps he heard now were approaching, so he tapped on Wade's torso to alert him and pulled the mask down. He had no clue what the local attitude about same-sex relationships was. The short, muscular teen came around the corner of the thul's house.

"Sorry to break up your battle practice, but we were hoping you could help us make a hole in the ice." She said.

The girl walked with them down to the sea. Peter grabbed his warm tunic on the way. The steam house was billowing smoke and there were four other women there. The tall one with the birth mark held two bronze digging bars, which she handed to them. They wanted a hole right by the jetty. Spider-Man glanced at Deadpool and they were both aware that it would be best to at least LOOK as if it was difficult. No punching through the ice in one super-strong blow. So they put on a show of effort, hacking away. The ice was still more than a foot thick. When they sprung a piece loose, the women scooped it out. Soon the hole was two feet across, and Spider-Man asked how large it needed to be.

"Large enough for a swim!" The girl said. Deadpool dropped the bar from surprise. It would have disappeared down in the water if Spider-Man had not caught the last inch of it above the surface with his sticky fingers. Stupid reflexes. I should have let it drop. The women looked at him, astonished, but said nothing. When the hole was four feet across it was deemed big enough. Deadpool and Spider-Man walked up to a bench on a knoll to look as if they needed to rest.

The women had gone into the steam house, and the oldest lady, Signhild as they had learned she was called, had joined them. The heroes sat on the bench and looked out over the sea. The gaunt old man came and sat down with them, and that blocked any attempt at talking about what had happened, so they sat in silence. After a while, the door of the steam house opened again and the women rushed out, jumped into the icy water, surfaced with a shout and ran back in again. Old Signhild did the same but with less rushing and no shouting. Spider-Man got chilblains just from watching. When they came out the second time they waved and shouted 'thank-you' before jumping in. The water that splashed up on the jetty froze. When they came out, the tall woman was hugging her head with her arms and cursed.

"Brain freeze. Shit from all the dogs in Niefelheim! Ow!"

"Don't keep your head under for so long, your skull will shrink!" One of the others yelled, smacking her butt as they ran back in.

The third time they came out they started posing, showing off their arms and thighs in an exaggerated manner. Then they turned their backs towards the knoll, put their hands on their knees and wiggled their butts. The wiggling turned to bumping, which turned to knocking-each-other-down-in-the-snow. Spider-Man was thankful that he had the mask on to hide the blush. Deadpool leaned over to whisper.

"So, totally homo, or?"

"Maybe three quarters homo?" Spider-man answered.

One of the women jumped up on the back of the tall one with the birthmark, grabbing her plaits. She tried to shake her off, which only made the woman on her back grab her by the tits instead. The tall woman ended the fight by diving into the water, burden and all.

"Or maybe half homo?" Spider-Man whispered.

"I'm sort of glad I didn't turn you off boobs. They are awesome." Wade answered, resting his chin on his hands. The women ran back inside to warm up. The old man cleared his throat.

"Just a word, young men. You are right in thinking that the ladies over there are warm for you. And had the time been any other than now, I wouldn't have said anything at all. In fact, please don't tell them I stopped you, or I'm in trouble. The thing is, you see, that women like to get themselves some manhood on the side in the winters. This is their right, as long as these 'sides' are gone when the husbands return. If they are still here when the ships come in, there will be a battle between the husband and the man in his wife's bed. And now comes the point of this long talk; you have nowhere to go. When the ships return, you will still be here." the old man said.

"Nice of you to watch out for us, but I'm sure we could fend for ourselves." Deadpool said.

"I'm sure you could. It's not you I'm worried about, but my son on the first ship."

Spider-Man understood what he was trying to say. If they were to get involved with the women, a fight could not be avoided, and somebody could die. The old man left them and walked towards the main hall, crossing paths with Gunnlod coming out from it. They exchanged words but were too far away for Spider-Man and Deadpool to hear. The old man went indoors but Gunnlod followed his track to where the heroes were sitting. When Gunnlod had walked all the way to the bench, she put her hands on her own back and stretched with a sigh. Her tunic hardly reached around her pregnant belly, and she wore one belt under it and another one over it.

"Getting heavy?" Deadpool said.

"Hm." Gunnlod replied. She was frowning as usual, and looked down towards the steam house, from which a lot of laughter and shrieking could be heard. She carried a bunch of keys in her belt, and they suddenly jangled as the baby kicked.

"Oooooh! Can I touch the belly?" Deadpool said, wiggling his fingers in the air. Gunnlod didn't answer, but took one very determined step away from him. He got the message and closed his hands in his lap. Gunnlod kept looking away from them, but both Spider-man and Deadpool could sense that she was about to tell them something. After a minute of awkward silence, Gunnlod gritted her teeth and spoke.

"I understand that old father gave you some advice." Gunnlod said.

"We probably weren't going to . . ." Spider-Man started to say, but she interrupted him.

"But as guests in this hall, it is my duty to see you well kept. Therefore . . ." Gunnlod paused, took a deep breath and continued ". . . I wanted to tell you that there is nothing to stop you from going to the slaves. Thralls have no husbands." She turned around and pointed. There were three women working beside the barn, bringing ashes in pails from the different houses. They were emptying them on the manure pile and mulling the ash down with shovels so it wouldn't blow about in the wind. When they noticed Gunnlod and the two men looking at them they bowed their heads and tried to be inconspicuous. Spider-Man was shocked, baffled and more than a little insulted.

"No thank you. I mean thank you, most generous hostess. We understand. But no thank you." Spider-Man said.

"I can order them to clean up." Gunnlod said. "But they are not born here and can not stand the ice bath."

"No. No thank you." Spider-Man said, shaking his head vigorously.

"I'm with Spidey. No fondling the unwilling." Deadpool said.

Gunnlod visibly relaxed. She exhaled deeply and her shoulders sank. The baby kicked again and the keys jangled just like last time.

"You can touch it if you want." She said to Deadpool. He put a hand flat on it and felt a hard punch from the inside.

"Hello widdle baby! Hey Spidey, feel this! The baby takes after its mother, no question."

Spider-Man exchanged a glance with Gunnlod, who seemed to think it was okay now. He was still a bit worried about having been rude to refuse her offer, so he couldn't really say no to this one. He put his hand on the side, where Deadpool indicated, but felt nothing. He shook his head at Deadpool. The merc took Spider-Man's hand and held it flat under his own close to the lower belt. Now he could feel the kicking, but Deadpool's hand on top of his was a more intense sensation than the belly under it.

They all heard a yell. One of the slaves had opened the door of the thul's house, to collect the ashes from his hearth, but she had dropped the pail and was running towards Gunnlod.

Chapter 10: Falling Sickness Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

They all heard a yell. One of the slaves had opened the door of the thul's house, to collect the ashes from his hearth, but she had dropped the pail and was running towards Gunnlod.

"Torbjörn is cramping!" the slave shouted. Gunnlod, Deadpool and Spider-Man ran to meet her and to the open door. Gunnlod looked in and her face turned white.

"I mustn't go in." She said. "I mustn't even think about this sickness, or the child could be born with it." Gunnlod turned around and walked back to the main hall without saying another word, calm and composed in her manner but with a pale face. Spider-Man ducked through the low door to see Torbjörn. Deadpool spoke to the frightened thrall.

"What is the matter with Torbjörn?"

"He has falling sickness." She answered.

"Okay, you . . . what is your name?"

"Desdemona"

"Great, Desdemona. Go fetch a hot drink. Chamomile or something." Deadpool said, and she left. He went inside to find Spider-Man kneeling on the floor next to Torbjörn, who was convulsing.

"Epileptic fit, full tonic-clonic seizure, I've seen this happen back home in Queens sometimes. No point in calling 911 here." Spider-Man said. "I rolled him on his side, and we can lift him on to the bed when it's over. There isn't much we can do but wait, unless you got anticonvulsants or benzodiazepines stashed in your pouches."

Deadpool shook his head and they waited together.

After a minute, the convulsions came to an end. Wade lifted Torbjörn and put him on his own bed. The man looked weary and confused, his forehead was sweaty and he had a small smear of blood on his lip. He turned his head from side to side and his eyes darted about. Peter sat on the edge of the cot and took his mask off so he could meet his gaze. Desdemona knocked on the door and handed Wade a mug.

"It's all right. You're okay. It was just an attack, and it's over now." Peter said. Torbjörn tried to sit up. Peter didn't want to restrain him, but kept his hands on the thul's shoulders and hoped he wouldn't try to get further away. It took a moment or two, but Torbjörn came to his senses and sank back down on the bed. He looked very tired. Deadpool offered him the mug, and he took it.

"Thank you." Torbjörn said. "Hope I didn't frighten you. It's not my first fit."

"I was worried that maybe our visit . . . " Peter said.

"No, this can happen any time, don't blame yourself. I don't feel too good, could you ask old Signhild to make her special mugwort for me?"

"She may be in the steam house, but I can go and see if she's done." Peter said, and got up. He left, and Deadpool sat down next to the bed. Torbjörn coughed a little, and wiped his forehead on his sleeve.

"So . . . falling sickness, huh? That's gotta suck money balls." Deadpool said. Torbjörn laughed and coughed again.

"I have never seen a 'monkey', but yes." He was flat on his back, which made his voice weak. "But I have heard them described. There are so many things I have never seen with my own eyes."

"Is this why you are the thul?" Deadpool asked.

"Well, I can safely say I don't do it for the money. I would have travelled with the rest if I could have, but I have never been away from this place. This curse can strike at any time, so I have to stay close to the yard." Torbjörn sighed. "I was born here and I will die here. Probably soon, too."

"I upgrade my statement from monkey balls to donkey balls."

They were silent. Deadpool was humming.

" Suck on my chocolate salty balls . . . " He interrupted himself. "It takes Spider-Man a while to fetch the herb thing you asked for, so I'm guessing old Signhild was still naked. There was a lot of naked there, and she was part of it, is what I'm saying. Not that it would stop him from helping you, 'cause he's a hero type. The real hero stuff, too, not like me. He could stick his head into a steam house full of naked any day and not be distracted." Deadpool continued talking while he stood up and walked over to the door. "If he said he would fetch Signhild, then . . . " Deadpool looked out and saw Peter, supporting the old lady by the elbow as they walked up the snowy slope to the store house. " . . . then that's exactly what he'll do." Deadpool sat back down again, more relieved than he wanted to admit to himself.

Torbjörn had taken a comb from his pocket and was combing his beard, which was full of dust, short pieces of straw and small wood splinters from the floor. He was still exhausted and his hands trembled.

"You have no beard?" he asked.

"Not to speak of." Deadpool said. "Not since the . . . thing." He didn't want to go into details about weapon X or anything else about his background. Torbjörn paused and looked at Deadpool as if he was deciding if he should ask or not.

"You seemed to enjoy the saga?"

Thankful for the change of subject, Deadpool was happy to answer this one.

"Most def! Nice rhytm, good characters, and you were totally right about the immersion. And, um, I hope we didn't go to far with the appreciation, if you know what I mean."

"Not at all. But, I wonder, what did you think about the underlying theological theme? The moral of the story, so to speak?" Torbjörn said. Deadpool didn't know how to answer that one and considered it for a minute.

"Sex is good? Or maybe love conquers all?"

"There is that, of course." Torbjörn said, nodding. "There is also a message of not letting the fact that your people are enemies get in the way. But the main theme, which is perhaps not obvious to you – I'm assuming you are not aware – is that all gifts have a cost."

"Easy on the mansplaining."

"This is important. Because of the events described, Frey no longer has his sword and will have to fight unarmed when Ragnarök comes. This is the world order. Odin wanted wisdom and paid with his eye. Mimer wanted peace and paid with his head. When we want something from the gods, we give them something. Gold. Weapons. Food. Blood. A sacrifice that makes them owe us." Torbjörn was sitting up, making large gestures with his hands, and still holding the comb. "And even more importantly, if they give us something, whether we asked for it or not, we are wise to pay and pay soon, lest they come to collect it."

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, dude." Deadpool said. "Don't get yourself all worked up right now, you're pale as a ghost. I get that you're trying to tell me this for my own good, but it's cool. I haven't gotten anything from any god in a long time. I could count my blessings on a no-fingered hand."

A knock on the door interrupted them. Peter came in, without his mask and with a fancy cup made out of a cow's horn in his hand. He was backlit by the afternoon sun and his worried face looked positively angelic to Deadpool.

Well shit. Epiphany. Better make plans for thanksgiving.

Chapter 11: Lousy Head Chapter Text

It was a sunny morning the day after Torbjörn's fit. Peter and Wade had eaten the morning meal and Peter straightened out their cot blankets and pelts. He was the only one who ever did that. When they came outside, everything was dripping and the snow was mushy. Rivulets of water ran down the icy footpaths towards the sea, and a breeze shook drops from all trees, leaving them bare of both snow and water. At least ten people were down on the jetty, in a lively discussion that seemed to focus on the ice, which they were pointing at, and the horizon, which they also pointed at. The heroes went down the slope and joined the group.

"What are you discussing?" Peter asked Signhild.

"The ice."

"Oooo-kay." Peter said, not knowing what sort of follow-up question to make. Wade jumped in instead.

"It sure is a lot shinier than it was a few days ago. Wetter, too. Like, it's shimmering a bit and the horizon looks sorta wobbo-wobbo. Is that it?"

"It may be getting close to spring break." Signhild said.

"Spring break! Woo hoo! Schools out and let's party!" Wade shouted, his arms in the air. Everybody turned to stare at him, but he kept his arms up.

"Unless spring break means something else. Is it still something good?"

"Yes, it's a good thing." Signhild said.

"Well Woo hoo, then! Like I said!"

Gunnlod was kneeling on the ice, with some difficulty. She put her ear down in the thin layer of water and everybody hushed. All was quiet. Gunnlod stayed with her ear down on the ice for so long that Peter got worried for her, but then she stood up. She didn't look satisfied.

"I can't hear it." She said. The others sighed. Peter was intrigued.

"Dear hostess, what is it you can't hear?" Peter asked.

"The ice breaking. With this weather, we were hoping for the spring break. If not here, then at least further south and out on the open sea. But I can't hear any." Gunnlod wiped her wet cheek.

"Can I try, maybe? My hearing is pretty good." Peter said. Gunnlod looked at him with her usual frown.

"My hearing is pretty good too." She answered.

"Well, what Spider-Man here is to polite to say is that his hearing is a lot better than 'pretty good'. Trust me, Gunnlod, this man could hear a rat fart. I should know, I've never been able to sneak one past him. A fart, that is, not a rat." Wade said. Gunnlod's frown was firmly in place but she still turned to Peter.

"Of course you can try. Everybody else be quiet, and stand still so the boards don't creak."

Peter kneeled down on the ice, his mask pulled off completely.

"What am I listening for?" Peter said.

"I would rather not tell you." Gunnlod said. "It is too easy to convice oneself that a faint sound is there, when it is really only in your own head. Please tell me what you hear."

Peter put his ear down on the wet ice, closed his eyes and put his spider-hearing to work. He covered his other ear with his hand.

"I hear bubbling." He said.

"That is the sea grass, waking up from the thin sunlight. Anything else?" Gunnlod said.

"I hear a drone or whirr."

"That is fish singing. Anything else?"

Peter put his mind to it, tried to mentally go into the glittering cold water and feel any vibration, sound or otherwise. There was something . . .

"I hear tinkling . . . slushing . . . clanging . . . it's very faint, but it sounds like broken glass windows , or plates in the sink." Peter said, figuring a bit to late that both glass windows and sinks were not good metaphores. It didn't seem to matter, because the waiting audience erupted in glee, stomping and clapping. Peter rose and wiped his ear, Gunnlod patted his shoulder lightly. Peter realised this was the first time she had touched him since the first evening when she had lifted his foot to check how cold he was. Wade, on the other hand, came up from behind and crushed him in a bear hug.

"That's my spider!"

Wade remained embracing Peter while the others seemed to get ready for something. Gunnlod was giving out instructions and some women went back to the main hall. Wade buried his nose in Peter's hair, and it felt good. Peter was surprised when Wade pulled back suddenly.

"Damn, Peter. I didn't think it was possible, but you just made me feel good about my looks." Wade said.

"Oh? And how did I do that?" Peter asked, convinced that Wade was going to say something romantic now that the others were out of earshot.

"Well, right now I'm happy I don't have hair." Wade said.

"Uh-huh . . . " Peter purred, backing up into Wade's embrace, but Wade also backed.

"Because you've got lice."

"WHAT!" Peter jumped away and drew his hands through his hair, completely disgusted to see small bugs stuck on his gloves.

"OH GOD GET THEM OFF!"

"Easy there, it's not dangerous." Wade said.

"BUT IT'S YUCKY!"

"I'll go get a comb, wait here." Wade said, and went up to the main hall, leaving Peter to freak out. Peter sat down on a bench next to the house where they stored small boats and fish nets, torn between running his fingers through his hair and not even wanting to touch it. Wade soon returned with a fine-toothed bone comb. He sat down behind Peter and started going through the brown, unruly locks one strand at a time, knocking the comb against the side of the bench after every stroke. Peter struggled at first, but Wade was insistent and gentle. Peter calmed down a bit.

"How did we not notice it before?" Peter said.

"Probably because it's dark indoors, and you always wear your mask outdoors." Wade said, ruffling the thick hair on the back of Peter's head. He was humming.

"Don't tell me you're enjoying this." Peter said.

"How could I not?" Wade said, stroking his fingers along Peter's neck.

"My hair is both filthy and lice-infested." Peter insisted.

"No amount of filth could make you anything but irresistible." Wade said, putting the comb down to take Peter back in his arms. Peter chuckled.

"Less hugging, more bugging."

Chapter 12: On Bones Chapter Text

Wade was still combing Peter's hair free from lice when Gunnlod and Signhild came back down to the jetty, carrying a lot of stuff in their arms.

"Maybe I should just shave my hair off?" Peter said to Wade.

"I demand that you give back the razor you borrowed if you intend to use it for something like that!" Old Signhild yelled. She came closer and poked Peter in the chest. "It was bad enough that you used it to shave your entire beard off – and it was coming in so nicely – but you should let your hair grow. How can you call yourself a grown man when your hair and beard is too short to braid?"

Peter was speechless. Societal norms were strong here, it seemed. On the other hand, he thought, this must mean she thinks we're part of the gang now. Temporary guests could most likely wear their beard any way they wanted to. Just like the old man had said, the two of them had nowhere to go, and at least Signhild seemed to assume they were staying. Peter didn't even have the beginning of a plan how to get home, apart from the faint hope that the funnels may come back. Wade kept combing, still humming.

Three children, around eleven or twelve years old, came running down from the main hall, agile and shouting, slipping down the icy path standing on one leg, or, in one case, on her hands. They came up to Gunnlod and Signhild on the jetty, and the women started to bundle them up in wool and furs. When Gunnlod deemed them sufficiently bundled, she gave them a shoulder bag each, a long pole with a spike, and started strapping something to their feet.

"Now, who has the food?" Gunnlod asked.

"I do!" One child said.

"And who has the embers?"

"I do!" The second child said.

"And who has spare bones?"

"I do!" The third child said.

"Good. Now, the wind is coming from north west, so you'll have it in your backs. If it turns more westerly, go around dog's head island on the east side so you don't need to struggle against it. If the wind stays, go around on the west side. You will have to decide for yourself if you can come home tonight or not. If not, do you know where you can stay?" Gunnlod asked them.

"The hay barn on middle meadow island."

"Or the old fishing sheds before you come to the narrow strait."

"And there's that abandoned storage house way down by big birch glen."

"Good. Don't go further south than you can go in a day and a half. I don't want you to spend two nights away from home. If there is no ice break before you see the cairn high on the east shore, don't go further. Climb up to the cairn and scout from there." Gunnlod said. She had finished strapping – long, sharpened bones, Peter noticed now – to their boots and they were circling around on the ice, paying little attention to the rest of her motherly instructions. Peter remembered the night he and Wade has walked across the ice and was uneasy that she was sending children on such a risky mission.

"Gunnlod, please, perhaps we could go instead?" Peter said, pointing at Wade and himself.

"Why?" Gunnlod asked.

"This sounds dangerous, and you are sending children." Peter said. The skaters did a screeching halt and glared at him. One of them stuck her tongue out at him.

"This is not a job for old men. You weigh double – if not four times – as much as we do," she said.

"Yes, but . . ." Peter said.

"And you don't know the way."

"Well . . ."

"Besides, I bet you don't even have skate bones. And I'm not lending you any!" she said. One of the others tapped her shoulder.

"Let's go before they can convince my mother," he said, and all three took off. They spread out far from each other and kept a steady pace, using the pole to gather speed, never lifting the feet from the ice.

Peter and Wade watched them disappear towards the horizon. Gunnlod looked at the heroes with a small, proud twitch of a smile, and walked away.

"Tcha! Kids these days!" Wade said. " You wouldn't have caught ME being brave, skilled and stubborn, no sireee. I don't know what has gotten/ will get/ did once got into the young generation."

"Douglas Adams said the hardest part about time travel was the grammar." Peter said. Wade had snuck up to put his arms around Peter again.

"Well, he was wrong. The hardest part about time travel is ME!" Wade said, emphasising the last word with a small thrust of his hips against Peter's butt.

"Stop that!" Peter said, with a mock serious tone. "We still need to fix my hair."

"Oh, I was done ten minutes ago. I continued just for the hell of it." Wade said, put his nose into Peter's now back-slicked locks and inhaled deeply.

"Wade . . ."

"Mm -mm?"

"Well, I'll just leave you two to it, then, shall I?" Signhild said behind them. She had a birch twig in her hands. She mumbled something in a low voice, broke the twig into eight pieces, threw them down and ground them with her heel. Wishing the kids a safe journey, presumably. She gathered up some left-over clothes and walked away.

Peter was blushing. He had forgotten she was there. Wade started walking backwards with Peter in his arms, opening the door to the boathouse with one hand behind his back, and ducking in under it pulling Peter with him. Wade stumbled in and landed sitting on an upside-down turned boat with Peter in his lap. The room smelled strongly of tar, but Wade's nose was so full of Peter that he hardly noticed. It was not a house for living in, and rays of sunlight came in through cracks between the timbers of the walls. Wade held Peter tight in his arms, pressing his cheek against his back. He felt Peter's belt and unbuckled it so he could slip his hands under his tunic and caress his spandex-covered chest. Peter pulled the tunic off over his head and Wade felt as if the sunlight warmed him to the bone. Petey was undressing – for him!

He stroked Peter's body downwards, spreading his fingers to cover as large an area as possible, going down on the outside of Peter's thighs. Wade was zooming in on the part of Spider-Man that was the hardest to get to at the moment since he was sitting on it, but Wade worked his hands in under the butt to feel the bounciness.

"Gods, Spidey, your ass is amazing." Wade mumbled against his shoulder.

"I thought you called me Peter when I had my mask off?"

"Your ass is still in costume." Wade said.

"That can be helped." Peter said, and stood up with his feet on the boat on each side of Wade's legs, his costumed ass right above Wade's face. He found the seam between the upper and lower part of his costume, and lowered the lower part. Half an inch at a time, he bared his ass to Wade until the trousers rested at the top of the thighs.

"Oh Petey." Wade swallowed. "Can I bite it? Please tell me I can bite it a little bit?"

"Sure." Peter said. Wade's pleading voice was getting him hotter. Wade grabbed Peter's hips and brought the object of desire closer to his face, and he started by licking it. Peter had to bend his legs a bit for Wade to reach, and that was not a comfortable position. Peter shot some web up to the roof beams and hung from that, not putting any weight on his feet. Wade had started nibbling now, and Peter's skin responded by getting goose bumpy all over his body. He moaned.

"Do that again." Wade said.

"Do what?" Peter asked. Wade bit his ass cheek and Peter moaned again.

"That." Wade said. His hands moved up and down, stroking Peter's hips, until one of them came around to the front and found Peter's cock uncomfortably stuck under the top of the trousers. He pulled at the elastic and the cock sprung free, smacking against Peter's stomach.

"Je-Zeus, Petey, you have to let me taste that. Please, please let me taste that." Wade begged. Hanging from the webbing, Peter turned around effortlessly with his cock nearly smacking Wade's ear from the side. He put his legs over Wade's shoulders, but instead of resting on them, he let his feet stick to the wall behind Wade. Wade was breathing heavily, his hot breath sifting through Peter's brown pubic hair. And then he got to taste him. Wade took Peter's cock against his tongue and licked the slit. The scent and the tang rushed to his head and he pushed the cock into his mouth, hearing Peter moan with more vibrato than last time. Wade knew he was rushing things, and he would have loved to do this for hours and hours, but he couldn't help himself. He took out his own cock and grabbed it, his own moan muffled by Peter's throbbing shaft. He let up for a second to speak, while he still had his vocal cords intact.

"Fuck me, Peter, fuck my throat, give it to me."

Peter repositioned his web strands, and he was now curled around Wade's head in a way that gave him leverage to put his strength into each thrust. Wade had no control over the speed or the depth, he could just sit there and take it. He wanted to take so much of it. He relaxed and let Peter down into his throat, as far as he could go, and used both his hands to pull at his own cock. He knew fully well that regardless of whether he stroked his own cock or not, he would come when Peter did. He didn't know how, but he knew he would.

The smell of tar would be a turn-on for him, from this day and always.

Wade had been right. The second Peter's whine changed to a low growl, his muscles clenched and he came, so did Wade. And it was the taste of Peter's seed that did it.

Chapter 13: The Little Spoon Chapter Text

When they got out of the boathouse, it was time for the noon meal. This was usually a soup of some kind. The heroes were always eager to get a meal in the cold weather, and it wasn't like they could go for take-away or pop down to the corner 7-eleven. When Peter and Wade came in, most of the others were already seated at the table. They swung their legs over the long bench and took their usual places. Signhild was setting the table, which was simply to put a bowl and a spoon in front of everyone. When she came to Peter, she gave him a bowl and a spoon, but then looked like she reconsidered. She took the spoon back and replaced it with another one. Giggles were heard from all the others.

"What's so funny?" Peter asked Torbjörn, who was sitting across the table from him.

"She gave you a smaller spoon." Torbjörn answered.

"Yes, but what does that mean?"

"Oh. Well, she is implying that you are the little spoon." Torbjörn said, and then lowered his voice and leaned in so Peter could hear him. "She means you take it like a woman."

When he heard that, Wade reached over, took Peter's smaller spoon and started eating his own soup with it. The giggles turned to hooting laughter, and the women started throwing spoons of all sizes at Peter, Wade, Signhild, Torbjörn, and each other.

Gunnlod came in through the door. Everything went quiet. A spoon landed in front of her feet. She looked angry, and picked it up.

"Whose spoon is this?" Gunnlod asked.

"That depends." The tall woman with the birthmark said, barely containing her mirth. "Is it a big one?"

The laughter that broke out was so loud it scared the chickens perching on the roof beams, which increased the noice even further. This time, Gunnlod did nothing to stop it.

The merriment at noon could not last long. Everybody was anxious about the skaters, both for the news they could bring and for their safety. Peter and Wade saw many surreptious little ceremonies being carried out. It didn't look like praying, more like the stuff athletes did before big games. Torbjörn was different and did nothing. When Peter asked him about it, he said that the children had only been gone three hours and it was much too early to worry the gods. That might even anger them.

Torbjörn did nothing that day. Signhild used up at least a dozen twigs.

Torbjörn did nothing the next day.

The mood was tense, and there was always somebody down on the jetty as a lookout. It was late afternoon and dusk was approaching. Gunnlod had told the children not to stay away for two nights and while she couldn't be accused of fretting, she went outside to look more often than necessary.

When it was evening, Torbjörn asked two slaves to arrange a platform for him, facing the sea. They built a small podium of wood and covered it with pelts, and they made a small fire in front of it. Torbjörn went to his own house and changed his clothes, and walked over to the small platform. He sat down and was quiet. Everybody had come to listen. Torbjörn took out a pouch and poured out a collection of amber and ivory discs on the pelt in front of him. He placed his fingertips on three of the discs and kept them there. Peter and Wade stood at the back of the small crowd, unsure about the proper behaviour at a time like this. Is was such a tense moment that Wade didn't even fondle Peter's butt even though it was right beside him. Torbjörn looked up and took a deep breath to start the reciting.

"There they are." Torbjörn said, and pointed. A small dot of light could be seen far away in the dark. He scooped the discs back in the pouch and asked the slaves to dismantle the platform. He went back to his house but the others ran down on the ice.

It was a long wait before the small dot of light revealed itself to be three separate torches, but eventually the three youngsters were ushered indoors and treated to chamomile tea with honey and praise from all sides. There was good news and bad news. The bad news was that the ice was solid all the way down past "The Rooting", wherever that was, but it was obviously further than they had imagined. The good news was that they had seen the ships. The two of them had been spotted by the children as they had climbed high up, and the ships had come as far north as the open water could carry them. The sails had been rolled up and there had been smoke from a small fire on the shore. The children were of the opinion that the viking crew had made camp, waiting for the ice to break so they could sail home. They had lit a fire of their own to signal and seen the campfire double in size for an answer.

All they could do was wait.

Chapter 14: Finally Some Vikings in this Viking Fic Chapter Text

The next morning, Peter was making the bed as usual and Deadpool walked outside for his morning piss. He followed the tracks of the watchdogs to see where they had been pissing so he could use the same spot, reasoning that they lived here and a guy could trust the locals to know the best places. This morning, it turned out to be the corner of a crate behind the brewing house. Deadpool had melted a large yellow-fringed cavity in the snowdrift when he became aware of noises from inside the building. It was clanging, wood breaking, and foul language obscured by the walls. Instantly going into fight mode, Deadpool drew a weapon and put his back to the wall, listening closer. There were more sounds of breaking but only the voice of one person. He slipped around the corner to the closed door and tried to open it without a sound, but the leather hinges were stiff from under use and it creaked. The noise inside stopped immediately. Figuring he was already detected, Deadpool looked in through the door. Gunnlod was there alone. She was standing at a table, calmly gathering wooden splinters that were strewn across the table. Her movements were precise and mannered, but the falling agitated dust in the air around her betrayed her secret. Deadpool holstered the weapon, stepped in, and closed the door behind him. He walked over to the table where she stood and sat down on the corner of it.

"Blowing off steam?" Deadpool asked.

Gunnlod gave him an annoyed glance.

"Fine, okay, I know, wrong reference. You would think that steam-engine metaphors would be less ingrained in a guy like me but all sorts of things pop up. Can I say that I approve of your anger management technique? I could use some of that myself now and then. One time I . . . wow, that bucket never knew what hit him, huh?" Deadpool said, watching Gunnlod throw the remains of a wooden bucket on the pile of firewood. She brushed away the last of the splinters. Deadpool kept babbling.

"Never been in this house before, ya know. Seasonal use, like the boathouse? You've got some weird stuff in here though." he said, gesturing at a large gathering of vessels. "And what's with the hot tub?"

There was indeed a thing that resembled a hot tub in the middle of the room.

"That is for brewing." Gunnlod said, finally speaking. "Please don't touch the inside of it, that's women's work only."

"Seems to me that a lot of stuff lately has been women's work only." Deadpool said. "The whole winter, amiright? Workin' nine to five, what a way to make a livin' Barely gettin' by, it's all takin' and no givin' "

"I'm just tired." Gunnlod said with a sigh.

"Understatement of the week."

"If the winter would only end soon. If the ships could come back . . . on the other hand, we have no food for them when they return. It will probably be two more weeks before the ice breaks up. I don't even have the grain to make a batch of beer."

"Is that important?" Deadpool said, playing with one of the kegs with his feet.

"Yes."

She didn't elaborate, and Deadpool didn't want to push the conversation. She looked as if she already regretted admitting she was tired. Deadpool lifted the keg with his feet, tossed it in the air and caught it again as it came down. Gunnlod sternly put a hand on his knee, took the keg with the other and scolded him.

"Byggvir deserves respect."

"Lady, you deserve respect."

Gunnlod didn't answer him. She put the keg back in its designated place. Deadpool heard children shouting outside.

"They are coming! They are coming! They are pulling the ships over the ice!"

Deadpool ran outside and saw Spider-Man scurry up on the roof, so he climbed after him. He squinted at the reflected sunlight and could make out two blurry dark shapes in the distance.

"Can they DO that?" Deadpool asked Spider-Man.

"I guess so. The ships have no keel and the wind is coming from the south. Still, it must be hard work."

"Fucking finally! I don't give a hoot about keeping super powers secret anymore, you and me are gonna help out. Strap on!" Deadpool said.

"Kinky." Spider-Man said.

"Oh NO there was totally a space between the 'strap' and the 'on' and you heard it!" Deadpool said and slid down the snowy roof. He bribed the kids with letting them use the smaller of his knives until he got back, and got some bone skates for himself and Spider-Man.

After some quick practice and with a still healing tailbone fracture, the two heroes were off. Crossing the ice on a sunny spring day, fed and clothed, and with a clear goal in sight, turned out to be a very different experience from their first night. The speed was intoxicating, the ice like a never-ending dance floor of brightness and glare.

It took Spider-Man and Deadpool over an hour of skating to reach the ships, which included time off for re-adjusting skate bones, losing the pole and going back to pick it up, and plain falling down. Still, it was a lot faster than walking the distance. The seafarers, about a dozen to each boat, were pulling the ships with ropes around their shoulders. The boats were leaning slightly to starboard, their sails furled. The heroes could hear a rhythmic heave-ho that came to an end when they were spotted. The Vikings looked at the two approaching skaters and dropped the ropes. They were hot from the hard work, bareheaded and sweaty even in the cold morning air. They carried no weapons and some of them had even removed their tunics. As the skaters came closer, the Vikings reached over the railings to unhook the shields and grab their axes. Deadpool and Spider-Man were speedily skating straight into two dozen raised weapons.

"Whoa whoa whooooooaaaaaaa!" Deadpool shouted, desperately trying to stop. He slid sideways and collided with Spider-Man, which effectively stopped them both. When they picked themselves up from the ice the other men had formed a shielded wall.

"We come in peace!" Deadpool yelled.

"Actually, we wanted to help you with the boats." Spider-Man added.

Chapter 15: Homecoming Chapter Text

From the middle of the crowd, one man came forward. Older than forty years, with a strong build and a little chubby, but his most prominent feature was a large scar on the left side of his head. It was huge and he was missing a large part of his hair, one ear, and parts of the beard on the cheek. The scar looked old and it was framed with black tattooed patterns.

"We don't know you." He said. "Why do you have masks?"

"I keeps the helmet from chafing. Plus, it totally brings fear into the hearts of brave men. Present company excluded, of course." Deadpool said.

"We are Gunnlod's new berserks." Spider-Man said.

"What, so NOW you're okay with the job description?" Deadpool said to Spider-Man.

"How can we know this is true?" The Viking said.

"Gunnlod is pregnant!" Spider-Man said.

"The thul is named Torbjörn!" Deadpool said.

The Viking captain did not look convinced. He stepped closer and pointed his sword at them.

"These things are easy for anyone to know. How can I know you have been staying there as friends, and not burned the place down and killed everyone?"

"What sort of monster would do that?" Spider-Man asked. Deadpool nudged him with his elbow. It was possible this bunch of men had done things like that.

"Oh! Uh, okay. The dogs are named Gere and Freke, and Freke is the lazy one." Spider-Man said.

"Truth!" Someone said from behind the shields.

"Signhild likes to take ice baths, Desdemona doesn't." Deadpool said. Some of the Vikings nodded. The captain lowered his sword a bit.

"The brown-and-black hen is a bit stupid and always lays her eggs where the goats can step on them."

"The largest of the benches has a wobbly leg."

"Torbjörn is really picky about his beard."

"Sigyn pulls her own hair when she masturbates."

"WHAT?" Spider-Man said. "How do you know that?"

"I don't always sleep very well." Deadpool said.

The man in front of them moved his sword to his shield arm and stretched out his hand to them.

"You have convinced us. My name is Torfinn, and I am Gunnlod's husband."

"Deadpool"

"Spider-Man"

The strangest thing about this place was that nobody ever questioned that those were their real names.

Peter felt great about putting his spider-powers to good use. They had been handed a rope each, on separate boats, and could pull hard. Since there were so many men pulling, nobody noticed that it was a bit too easy. If anyone did, they probably thought it was just themselves slacking off. After two hours, they could see the smoke from the village. After three hours, they could see the houses. The Vikings were singing and taking no breaks. After three and a half hours, the dogs came running. Ten of the men threw themselves in a big huddle around the jumping, yapping huge hounds to hug and pet them. The others took a break. Spider-Man asked them about it, and it turned out that the whole group was not from the one village. The others came from a few other farms close by, which were not prosperous enough to send out ships. They had bought shares in the trip in order to join and would go home later.

As they got closer, children now came to meet them on skates, which called for more hugging breaks. Torfinn gathered three of them (his own, most likely) to his sweaty chest at the same time and refused to let go. The pulling of the boats was a lot less efficient now, with all the distractions. Peter took off his mask and put his back into it, and it felt exhilarating. Deadpool managed to sneak him ropes to both boats without anybody seeing it. The Vikings still didn't notice something was odd, but rather taking the credit themselves.

"That's it, men! Not much further now!" Torfinn shouted.

If not for Peter and Wade, it would have taken another hour to go all the way, but soon the boats were left to rest on the ice next to the jetty.

Gunnlod was standing outside the main hall, waiting. Behind her were the slaves and the old man. Torfinn ran up the path, kneeled in front of her and took her hand.

"Is this still my home?" he asked.

"This is your home."

"Is this still my wife?"

"This is your wife."

"Is this my child?" he asked.

"Hey, don't look at me! She had a bun in the oven long before this baker came to town!" Deadpool said. Peter elbowed him in the ribs.

"Don't ruin the moment!" Peter whispered.

"This is your child."

"I was afraid, so afraid, that we would find everyone dead. From attack, starvation or cold. How many have died while we were gone?" Torfinn asked.

"Hronn died before the winter even started." Gunnlod said.

"Well, that was only to be expected."

"And with you, have many have died?" Gunnlod asked.

"Only one, and Rögnvald lost a hand." Torfinn said. One of the Vikings listening raised his stump in a proud gesture. Peter was surprised no one mentioned the name of the man who had died on the trip, but assumed this was not the time to ask about it. The whole conversation felt ceremonial.

"Was it worth it?" Gunnlod asked. It appeared that Torfinn had been expecting the question, and he waved to one of the other men. He came up to Torfinn and handed him a wrapped object. Torfinn unwrapped a large stiff gold necklace and handed it to her.

"This, and twenty times this, is my share."

Gunnlod accepted the necklace and held it in her hands but in spite of the heavy gold she looked a bit sad.

"Then we will starve in splendour."

"Actually . . ." Torfinn said, and his voice was different. He looked like he broke character or spoke outside the script. "Actually, since we were stuck on the French coast for a month, we did some trading and stocked up a bit. We had to have provisions for ourselves while we made camp and we got such great deals that we overdid it a bit. The boats are stocked to the tipping point."

"You . . ."

"We've got food, is what I'm saying."

Chapter 16: Party Like It's 999 Chapter Text

Smiling Gunnlod was a person the heroes had never seen before. And if she was different, it was nothing compared to how different the village looked. With twice the amount of people and four times the activity, the whole place seemed warmer. The icy narrow paths were soon trodden to wide stretches of mud. The ships were unloaded under Gunnlod's and Torfinn's joint supervision, where he said what was in the urn, sack or casket, and she said where it should go. The crew jumped back and forth from the ships to the shore, and the slaves and women stored the goods according to Gunnlod's shouted instructions.

"Dried meats, three bags."

"One to the main hall and two to the storage house."

"Eight large sacks of grain."

"Seven of them to storage, one to the brewing house."

"Dried apples and currants."

"Storage."

"Bread. No holes to hang them up."

"Take it to the main hall."

"Eighty-something amphorae of wine."

"Bring it all inside."

"All of it?" Torfinn asked. She nodded.

"Yes, it should be present for the gods to see." Gunnlod said. Torfinn smiled at her.

"Are we inviting the gods, then?"

"I can not think we will ever have a better occasion than this."

Not everything was food, of course. The rest of the loot – Peter wasn't sure how much was stolen and how much was traded or earned – was put aside for the time being. The Vikings had had plenty of time on the boat to bicker over the division of it, so that was all settled and done. Torfinn came up to Peter and Wade.

"These gold rings are for you men, as a token of my gratitude. My home is in better standing than I expected because you were here." Torfinn said, and handed them two heavy armbands each.

"You don't have to …" Peter started, but thought better of it. Accepting gifts gracefully was also good manners.

"Ohhh, pimptastic!" Wade said, and jingled them around his wrist.

A Viking with a brown beard that was cut in a rectangular shape walked past them and came up to Torbjörn. He carried a large bundle in his arms.

"Torbjörn, my brother! What have you been doing the whole winter long?" He said.

"Getting rich, wise and famous. Fucked your wife. What else?" Torbjörn answered.

"Ha ha! You never change, brother. But I got something for you." The man unwrapped the bundle, and showed Torbjörn an ornamented covering with two handles sticking out the end. "This is for reading on. They got really pissed when I took it, so it's probably good."

"Those are torah scrolls!" Peter said, shocked. Torbjörn accepted the bundle and gave his brother a hug.

"Torbjörn, those are holy objects!" Peter said, still amazed to see them and rather upset to know they had been stolen.

"Yes?" Torbjörn said.

"They belong in a temple!" Peter said.

"I will not treat them with disrespect." Torbjörn said calmly. Peter looked at him. It was true, the thul had great respect for anything written and/or sacred. There wasn't much to do but leave them with him. Torbjörn carried the scrolls to his house. Wade grabbed Peter's hand.

"Come on, baby. Let's help them get the party started!"

The main hall had undergone a transformation that was part due to the fact that winter was over and part due to the need to hold a celebration. All the animals except the dogs were gone, moved to a barn that had been boarded up during the cold months. The floor was swept clean. Many of the cots along the walls were now sitting benches instead, with tables in front of them. Three other houses were now fitted for sleeping, and the slaves were ordered to supply them with plenty of firewood and to put fresh straw in the cots. Old Signhild was in charge of the cooking, and taking her job seriously. 'Inviting the gods' was not just a figure of speech, either. Five large statues carved from logs had appeared, Peter and Wade had no idea from where, and they stood looming at the end of the hall, opposite the throne. Torbjörn came in and went over to check on the gods' positions. The big wine amphorae were stacked in a huge pile against the wall close to them. Peter stayed with Torbjörn to ask about the statues while Wade was asked to help hang oil lamps from the rafters. He was balancing on a peg in the wall when he heard Peter's voice.

"What do you mean, we have to perform something at dinner? I'm not in show business!"

Torbjörn had not been joking. Any Viking – or strange foreign berserk – was also a poet. The crew had been preparing and practicing tales of their journey and would sing or declare them. Parables and paraphrases, especially if theyreferred to old sagas, were considered an important merit, and a good simile could be worth gold.

The feast was now starting, but the nature of it was not as rowdy as Wade had expected. It started in a most orderly fashion, with everyone seated and the tables empty. Torfinn came in and took his seat, which had been empty for Wade's and Peter's entire stay. Wade had actually sat on it once when he was alone – he was never one to bow to authority – just to see if it was magic and would make him king or something. It hadn't. When Torfinn was seated, Gunnlod came over to him with a huge drinking horn made of glass. It was filled to the brim, and she carried it across the room with a gait and grip so steady that not one drop ran over the side. Wade, who could mess up the entire front of his suit even when drinking a Capri-sun, was impressed. He glanced at Peter who looked adorably nervous about being called upon to entertain. Once Torfinn had his wine, the tables were quickly set all around the hall and each guest got his own horn, also full. Torfinn rose.

"A toast!" Torfinn said.

"A TOAST!" everybody answered in unison.

"A toast to our dead. We drink for those who went to Valhalla before we had the chance. This morning, they came to help us."

"YES!" everybody except Wade and Peter answered.

"This morning, our dead came down to us and helped us pull our ships in. Did you feel their presence? Did you feel how twenty men pulled those ropes besides us?"

"YES!"

"Those were our friends, and we thank the allfather, the eagle-keeper, the wrathmaker, for giving them leave to come to us. Ask the gods to drink with us."

Wade was tempted to point out that it had been him and Spidey, almost all Spidey, and only the feeling that it would ruin the reception of his performance stopped him. He wanted the audience on his side. Torfinn wrapped up his speech and everybody drank. Wine was also poured over the statues, staining them red. There was no way to put the horn down, so you had to either finish the wine or hold on to it. The man who was Torbjörn's brother stood in the middle of the room now, between the tables, and recited a long, rhymed poem describing the first part of their journey. Wade wasn't sure if it was good or not, and the man had the disadvantage of competing with the serving of the food. When he was finished, he got some cheers but he didn't seem to mind the lack of a standing ovation and happily sat down to eat. Wade decided this was a good act to follow, so he emptied his horn and jumped over the table. When he had caught the attention of the crowd he spoke.

"Now, I understand it is customary to recite a bit of poetry. Well, if I'm a poet, I didn't kno et. But I made this limerick for you all.

There once was two guys from New York

that popped through a hole like a cork.

We looked for work

and went berserk,

the merc with the mouth and a dork."

The crowd laughed and seemed to like it, even if Wade secretly suspected nobody fully appreciated the fact that he had used york-cork-work-dork which was funny because they LOOK like they should rhyme but they DON'T but in this way they were still in the right place. He would have to explain it to Peter later to get the praise he felt it deserved.

"Thank you, you're a great audience. Just one more little thing. Hey, how do you spell Odins name?" Wade pointed at the old man.

"I dunno?" he shrugged.

"With one 'eye'!"

Confused silence.

Then roaring laughter. Even Peter laughed.

Chapter 17: Another Drink, Another Guest Chapter Text

Wade sat back down and Peter hugged him tight.

"You're the BETS, Wade! Beast! I mean best!" Peter said. His ears were pink.

"Are you getting tipsy, Webby?" Wade said.

"Maybe. If you want to put the horn down, you can't because it has a pointy bottom. If you want to lay it down, you have to drink up first, and look here what happens when you do that." Peter said, laying his horn down on the table and put his head low, close to the surface of the table like he was observing some strange shell. The slave Desdemona came over and refilled it and handed it to him.

"See! They're like those waitresses that always comes around to top up your glass in a restaurant, except there you can leave the glass undrunk if you want. Is it my time to shine now, you think?" Peter said, gesturing to the hall.

"If you wait, you'll just be even more drunk. Go get 'em!" Wade said, and held Peter's horn for him. Peter slid down under the table and crawled out on the floor between the long tables in a rather undignified manner.

"Okay, I'm even less of a poet than Wade is, so this will not be my own work. But I know this song from a bard named Jimmy Buffet. My aunt used to hum this while cleaning, and I think you can relate. It's called Boats to Build.

It's time for a change

I'm tired of that same ol' same

The same ol' words the same ol' lines

The same ol' tricks and the same ol' rhymes

Days precious days

Roll in and out like waves

I got boards to bend I got planks to nail

I got charts to make I got seas to sail

I'm gonna build me a boat

With these two hands

It'll be a fair curve

From a noble plan

Let the chips fall where they will

'Cause I've got boats to build

Sails are just like wings

The wind can make 'em sing

Songs of life songs of hope

Songs to keep your dreams afloat

I'm gonna build me a boat

With these two hands

It'll be a fair curve

From a noble plan

Let the chips fall where they will

'Cause I've got boats to build.

Peter's singing was approved of, probably mostly due to his enthusiasm and the ship theme. He was making grand gestures and sang with vigour. His new armbands jangled. Wade wanted to rest his chin on his hands and make heart eyes at Peter but holding the horns stopped him. The song wasn't long and when Peter was finished he took a bow and left the stage. The man who took over after him scoffed at the brief performance and threw himself into a long alliterated piece that contained so many compound similes that the heroes had no chance to catch all the references. Torbjörn, on the other hand, seemed to appreciate it more. The verses went on and on, but the party kept going on around it. More food was served as soon as it was cooked, and the gods were given their own portions. They were not served equal amounts. Most notably, the statue with the hammer had been given a much larger bowl. They were also gifted with scarves, belts, jewellery, and someone stuck a boiled egg into the empty eye socket of Odin in what was hopefully not a sacrilegious gesture. Wade was torn between using both hands for eating as much as possible or keeping one arm around Peter at all times.

There was a knock on the door. Wade and Peter sat with their backs towards it and didn't see who opened it nor who came in. Peter was busy trying to construct a horn holder from stacked pork bones and Wade was busy eating pork to provide the bones his darling needed. Old Signhild directed a man to their table.

"A guest brings good fortune, sit here and be welcome." Signhild said. A large man sat down on the bench next to Wade. He was covered – almost hiding – in a scruffy brown blanket thrown over his head as a hooded cape. He nodded gratefully and sat hunched like a poor man, but the armour on his arms was visible and glittered in the light from the fires. When his food arrived, he pulled the blanket from his head and smiled at Signhild. The old woman tried to keep a straight face but failed.

"Thank you, kind woman, for letting a poor wanderer in." He said.

"Poor. Yes. Wanderers are welcome here." Signhild said. She gave him a horn of wine and rushed over to Gunnlod at the other end of the hall. Wade spoke with a bone sticking out of his mouth.

"Thor?"

Wade was staring at the first familiar face he had seen in almost a month. Thor had already finished his first horn of wine and when Desdemona came to refill it, she had obviously been instructed by Signhild or even Gunnlod to bring a bigger, much fancier horn. Thor didn't seem to notice that he had been recognised and still considered his disguise clever. He whispered to Wade.

"Shhh, oh Pool of Death. Call me Magne, for I am here in disguise." Thor said, and then realised something. "Pool of Death and the Man Spider? Are you here?"

Not until now did Peter notice him and toppled his horn stand out of surprise.

"YOU FOUND US!" Peter yelled.

Thor looked confused and a bit embarrassed. At the other end of the hall, Gunnlod and Torfinn were discussing something with Torbjörn, who appeared to be very firm in his opinion if his facial features were to be trusted. The poetry reciting was still ongoing. The recognition of the new guest's identity spread across the hall from one person to the next but nobody said anything. Peter was sure that if they had had smartphones, they would have been snapping secret selfies-with-celebrity right now. But when Thor looked up, everybody glanced away and looked busy. If a god shows up and pretends to be someone else, it's best to play along. Torbjörn resumed his seat.

"In truth, I did not come here to look for you." Thor said.

"Then . . . then why are you here?" Peter said.

"I could tell there was an epic feast going on. I would not want to miss it." Thor said. He pointed at the statue of himself, drenched in wine.

"But . . . but . . . aren't the avengers looking for us?" Peter said, with a pout.

"Verily, they are. The Iron Man is searching for you in every corner of your world with his machines, and he is certain he will find you soon. He, as well as the others, are worried. You have been gone three days. While they were searching, I waited. And while I waited, I came here." Thor said.

Peter was stunned. Three days? Had they only been missing for three days? That meant aunt May was not worried yet, he had not missed any deadlines, and New York crime had not gone unpunished for long. It was a relief.

"So, Magne, my new friend that I have never seen before!" Wade said. "Do you plan to go to New York any time soon? And if so, could we get a ride? Please pick up hitchhikers."

Peter was drunk and happy. Thor had told them he had arranged for Heimdall to allow him passage in twelve hours. The party raged on, becoming more and more disorganised and rowdy. The most popular poem of the evening had inspired a small choir of Vikings to repeat it in a more singing fashion, and they sat on a bench by themselves like a barbershop quartet. There had been an improvised axe target toss contest outside, which had ended with a sudden need for treatment of profusely bleeding head wounds and Signhild's advice that they should settle it when they were sober. Thor was telling Torbjörn a story of when he, Magne, once saw the mighty Thor defeat some frost giants. Torbjörn was all ears of course, and didn't even give the game away when Thor forgot to speak in third person. He would have taken notes but didn't dare to leave to get his stuff. His eyes were glued on Thor so he wouldn't miss a word.

Couples kept disappearing and coming back with straw in the hair a while later. Nobody was having public sex, but there were lots of kissing and groping followed by giggling and sudden departures. Torbjörn's brother had taken Peter's song apart and was trying to put it back together with proper metaphores.

"Boat. You can't just say 'boat' like that. 'Sails are just like wings' is something, at least. But 'boat' can be a lot better. I'm gonna build me a . . . wooden swan. a seagull with bark." He was muttering.

Peter wasn't listening. He was sitting in Wade's lap. Wade was leaning back against the wall like Peter's personal lounge chair with massage function. The massage function was his hands, which he used to stroke every part of Peter's body. They were beyond giving a fuck about who saw them. They were going home tomorrow. Peter was still drinking because why not? Wade was stroking the inside of Peter's thighs slowly, like he would keep doing it all night. Peter twisted his spine around so he could kiss Wade. The oil lamps had burned out and the hall was darker. Wade cupped Peter's groin lightly and Peter moaned into Wade's mouth. Peter had more wine than spit in his mouth, and it was a hard, red, tannic wine that made his tongue feel rough like a cat's. Wade couldn't get enough of that tongue.

The door opened and Torfinn came in. They hadn't seen him leave but he must have been gone a while, seeing as how he was now undressed. It didn't seem to bother him that he only wore a small cloth around his hips and a pair of woolly socks. Now that his chest was bare, Peter saw that he had other scars than the one on the left side of his head. A particulary large one across the lower ribs had a line of black runes along it that didn't look like decoration but more like it was there to ward off further damage. Perhaps it was against pain. Peter understood better why Deadpool's scars had been less of a deal here, in an era without doctors.

Torfinn came up to the snuggling heroes.

"Gunnlod would like a word with you two." He said.

"Noooooooo I don't wanna!" Peter wailed. "Tonight is our last night here and she doesn't need to frown at us anymore. If she wants to yell at me she should do it tomorrow morning when I'll be hung over and miserable."

"She wants you to come to bed." Torfinn said.

"Say what?"

Chapter 18: DP with DP Notes:

I didn't want to spoil the plotline by tagging this but there is 'double penetration with pregnant lady' in this chapter.

It's beautiful.

Um . . . I've changed the rating to explicit.

Chapter Text

Wade and Peter followed Torfinn out from the party. As they passed Thor and Torbjörn, Wade knocked on Thor's shoulder.

"Don't sit here in the main hall, Magne. You should go with Torbjörn to his house so he can write your Thor story down. And maybe even hear him tell one of his own, he's got good stuff. Take an amphora with you!" Thor nodded in agreement and Torbjörn blushed from his beard to his eyebrows. The three men walked across the now sodden snow to one of the other houses. Peter was a bit unsteady.

"Torfinn, could you tell us what's the idea here?" Wade asked. "Is this, like, something in the fine print of the berserk contract that we didn't literally sign but still? An obligation? Just A Thing That's Done?"

"No. You don't have to. It's just . . . she needs more and I could only go twice. So I asked her what else I could do for her and she asked me to go get you two." Torfinn said.

"And you're okay with this?" Wade asked. Torfinn laughed heartily and his beard braids jumped.

"I have been gone seven months. She is alive and still mine. Would I deny her anything? Could I?"

Torfinn showed them in. It was warm and dark, only some embers gave a slight glow. Gunnlod was sitting on a large bed covered with hides, and spoke as soon as they closed the door behind them.

"Dear guests, if I can explain . . . please understand that this is my only night of pleasure for some time. I will give birth very soon, I'm already overdue, and for the next three months I can not have any. Those are the old rules and I follow them. I didn't have any while my husband was away . . . "

"You could have." Torfinn said.

"But I didn't. I didn't have the time or energy to deal with any complications. But you two . . . you are good men. And you are leaving. Would you let me have this before you leave?"

Wade was about to answer but Peter beat him to it, slapping his hands on the table.

"IT'S A GREAT IDEA! Gunnlod, most generous hostess, I'm telling you that if you need dick, then Wade's got it. Like, you can't even imagine. This dude . . . " Peter hugged Wade from behind. "This dude's got the GOODS!"

"Peter, are you sure about this?" Wade said.

Peter turned Wade around by twisting Wade's hips in his hands and kissed him.

"Wade, I know I'm drunk. But only a good kind of drunk. I wouldn't miss this chance for anything. The nice lady needs dick, plenty of it. And we're heroes and should help her out, right? You an' me. Both. We should give it to her. I want to show you off 'cause you're amazing. And I want to see what Deadpool junior looks like in action before I take him on myself 'cause frankly I doubt my ability to handle him." Peter said.

"It's not gay if it's a 3-way." Wade said. "And you called me a hero."

"It's some gay tho." Peter said, pulling Wade's hips closer to his so he could let Wade feel the bulge under his spandex.

"All right, fine. I actually didn't need much convincing. Pregnant women are boner-sproutingly sexy. I've never had sex with a lady that pregnant. Plus my pervy side very much want to see you creaming her and telling me to lick it off. Can I say that and not be creepy?" Wade said.

"Nope."

"Fine, I can be creepy. How do we do this?"

The dim light made it less stressful for Wade to show some skin. Since he was the heaviest, he took the position of flat on his back on the bed. Gunnlod was sitting across his thighs and stroked his chest tentatively, as if worried that his scars and tumours were painful. Considering the way her husband had been wounded repeatedly, it was not surprising. Peter was behind her, kneeling between Wade's spread legs and massaging her shoulders. Wade was caressing her huge belly in large circles and then moved his hands up to her breasts. She made a slightly pained sound and moved his hands away.

"Sorry, they're over-sensitive and too tender at this time." Gunnlod said.

"I'll take it easy." Wade said, and touched them lightly. But it was still unpleasant for her and he took his hands away without her needing to ask again. Torfinn got up from his seat and walked over to a clothes chest at the other side of the room. He rummaged around in it and came back with a pair of large leather mittens. He turned them inside out so that the fur was on the outside and handed them to Wade.

"Try it with these. They're my best stoat fur mittens and I used them last time she was in this state." Torfinn said.

Wade put the mittens on and caressed her breasts with the soft fur. She gasped and let out a raspy moan, so Wade dared to continue. Her breasts felt full and heavy in his hands.

"Fuck, man. Your wife is so hot I needed oven mitts." Wade said.

Gunnlod scooted forward from Wade's thighs to his hips, letting her wet cleft slide along his hard length.

"Oh yeah, fuck, that's a soft bun for this foot-long hot dog." Wade groaned. Peter snorted against Gunnlod's neck.

"Wade, your dirty talk is the WORST."

"I found it a very poetic simile." Gunnlod said, panting lightly.

"See there, Petey. I'm good." Wade said. He reached down and grabbed his dick from where it pointed at his scarred navel and wrenched it upright. Gunnlod followed his movement and raised her hips.

"Now how about we sheath this sword to the hilt?" Wade said.

"Eh, that one is overdone." Torfinn said, but Gunnlod didn't let that stop her from following the suggestion. She spread her labia with her fingers and lowered herself only a little bit at first, letting the thick head of Wade's dick in. She stopped and gasped. Wade put his fur-covered hands on her thighs and encouraged her to go on down, and down, and down as far as it could go.

Peter was thinking that Wade had exaggerated, though. It was not a FOOT long.

Wade was fucking Gunnlod in long, slow thrusts. Their heavy breaths filled the room.

"I want some too!" Peter complained with a less than sober tone.

"I have something else for you to smooth her up." Torfinn said. He brought out a Greek pottery jar, low and wide, filled with an oily pomade. The decoration illustrated the intended use well. Peter looked closely at the foreign-looking vessel. Torfinn nodded.

Chapter 19: The End Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"Well, I didn't spend two months in Greece for nothing." Torfinn said, and pulled the stopper. He leaned over the bed and poured a few drops of thick oil in the small of her back, and Peter watched as the drops travelled over her skin along the spine and all the way down. When the first small trickle reached her anus, Peter gestured to Torfinn to pour a little more. He greased up his fingers and let them slide up and down in the crack. He leaned close to Gunnlod to whisper in her ear.  
"Is Wade good?"  
"I . . . yes . . . oh!" Her voice was a whimper. Peter felt a shiver run down his spine. He stopped going up and down with his fingers and pressed a bit against her anus with his fingertip.  
"But surely there is room for one more?" Peter said, and slipped his index finger in. "You are always so welcoming to guests, generous hostess."  
He could feel Wade moving inside her. Torfinn poured more oil for Peter and he prepared her slowly and thoroughly but so eager to be done. When he finally was able to slide his dick in he heard Wade growl.  
"Oh shit OH SHIT fuck that's so freakin' hot. Oh god Peter, I can feel you fucking her."  
"Yes . . ." Peter felt light-headed. Every time Wade made a thrust in, he almost pushed Peter out. And when Peter pushed back in, he felt Wade slide out. The rhythm was devastating. Peter heard all sounds as if he was under water. Groans, whines and gasps, he had no idea whom they belonged to, or if they were perhaps his own. Through a haze, he noticed Gunnlod was climaxing, clenching hard around both of them. He heard Wade's voice, hoarse beyond recognition.  
"Oh fuck that's it, I'm coming, no stopping it. Watch this, Torfinn. I'm gonna come so hard up in here that your next three children will be mine."

It was morning. The dogs were up and running, going from house to house and trying to find all the people they felt responsible for. It was a real treat for them that the humans wanted to play hide-and-seek. Whenever they found one, face licking took place until the person woke up and made at least one sound. The dogs were now trying to get into a house where they could hear snoring. The door was closed. They barked and whined, but no response came. Deciding that the door was preventing them from doing their job, the dogs managed to poke the door latch until they got it open. They entered in a flurry of wagging tails and got the jackpot. Four peoples!

Peter woke up from a tongue in his face. Unfortunately, it was not Wade's.  
"Oooooooohhhhhhhh shit, my head hurts." Peter said. "Let me sleep. Go away."  
Since all four persons were woken up and accounted for, the dogs ran out again. They did not close the door behind them.

A cold morning breeze on sticky naked skin. Peter tried to pull Wade over himself as a blanket.  
"Morning, sunshine." Wade said.  
"I'm dying." Peter answered.  
"I'll get some water." Gunnlod said. She was already half dressed. Her hair was a complete mess and she tied a scarf over it. Torfinn put a stopper in the oil askos.

When they stepped out, they saw the dogs leave Torbjörn's house. Shortly after, Torbjörn came out and after him came Thor, ducking under the low door. Peter saw him slap Torbjörn's ass and Torbjörn blushed when he saw them.

The farewell was awkward. Peter was hung over and wished more than anything he could have slept for longer. Torfinn was trying to think of a way to say 'thank you for doing my wife' that didn't make him sound impotent. Gunnlod looked as if she wanted to give them hugs and something to eat on the way but not mother them too much. Torbjörn looked embarrassed and fangirly at the same time. Thor still insisted his name was Magne but nobody was buying it. And Wade . . .

They said goodbye and left, walking away from the village. Wade was uncharacteristically quiet. Would returning home mean returning to the way things were when they left? Sure, Peter had turned to Wade when they were stranded, but then he didn't have anyone else to turn to, did he? Last time they were in Queens Spider-Man never wanted to touch Deadpool unless it was for punching him.

The three of them were walking down a busy street in central Queens, filled to the brim with pedestrians. Spider-Man looked at the worn-out knees of his suit, his frayed gloves, his nearly black boots. He glanced at Deadpool. His suit was not as badly worn, but Spider-Man saw the re-attached thumb of the glove, and the embroidered serpent on the shoulder. It felt as if they had been gone for a year. He smiled to himself.  
"So what do we do now?" Deadpool said.  
"YOU go and get tacos, coffee and chocolate, I get aspirin, lice shampoo and lube, and we meet at my place in fifteen minutes!" Spider-Man gave Wade a peck on the cheek and ran to the closest drug store.

"I will report to The Iron Man that I, son of Odin, have returned you both safely." Thor said. Wade looked at him.  
"Before you go . . . do you know a god named Frey?"  
"Verily I have known him for a thousand years." Thor said.  
Wade hesitated, and then he unstrapped the katanas from his back, sheaths and all, and held them out to Thor.  
"Will you give him these, and say they're from me? I heard he gave his sword away a long time ago. Just … tell him to take good care of Bea and Arthur for me."  
"But why?" Thor asked.  
"Well … I owe him, I think. Big time. Now take them before I change my mind!" Deadpool said.  
"Such an offering would be ample pay for anything, indeed. Pool of Death, I know how dear these weapons are to you. Keep them, and let me tell Frey of this happening. Give me another gift to bring him." Thor said.  
"Really? I can keep them?" Wade hugged the swords tight to his chest. He looked at the window of a souvenier store, popped into the store for less than a minute, and returned with an oversized drinking cup with the "I 3 NY" logo. He handed it to Thor.  
"Do you think he will be cool with this?" Wade said.  
"Not with this, but with the tale I bring him." Thor said, and left. Wade fell to his knees and hugged his twin babies, saying he never would do such a thing to them again ever. He was still there when Peter returned from the drugstore.  
"Wade … please don't tell me it will take you seven months to return with the food?"


	4. WADEPETE

WADE/PETE

Summary:

Everything is a hell of a lot harder to do when someone wants to kill them, the Avengers are breathing down their backs, and the tension between them is unbelievable, if not odd.

When Tony hesitantly assigns Wade with the job of protecting Peter from an unknown force targeting him, Peter and Wade are forced to spend time together. With both men growing closer over several months, gaining each other's trust, Peter struggles to keep his identity a secret, and Wade struggles to put his inner turmoil and self-esteem issues aside to protect the younger boy and address their feelings.

Chapter 1: Close Encounters.

PETER PARKER

I dart across the street, giving a twitchy wave as a car slows to let me pass. I bounce over the gutter on the other end of the street, slowing to a walk as my tattered vans hit the pavement, tucking my skateboard under my arm. The chilly autumn wind kicks up and scatters crisp brown leaves underfoot, and I pull my woolen beanie further down over my ears, pushing my glasses up on my nose.

I'm tired, to say the least. At nineteen, working as an esteemed biomedical intern for Tony Stark at Stark Tower was one thing. But, being his intern on weekdays, taking pictures of Spider-Man for The Bugle on weekends, balancing my first year of college, putting on a hero suit every night to protect the city, and managing to hide being Spider-Man from Tony-fucking-Stark?

Well, that's fucking bullshit, and my life sounds like a teenage drama that I want no part of.

I'm tired, there are dark crescents under my eyes, my lips are in a permanent frown, and my lanky frame drags on once night falls each day. Once, I fell asleep in my own web atop a building because I didn't trust myself to swing home without coming short and falling to the ground.

That being said, I love every minute of it.

I slip my Stark Intern ID badge out of my pocket and clip it to my waistband, nearly approaching the security gates to the Tower.

Tucking my hands in my jacket pockets, I teeter forward on the balls of my feet as I stand in front of the electronic check-in connected to Jarvis, brandishing my ID. "Good morning, Mister Parker. Tony and Bruce are in the Lab." Jarvis greets cooly but merrily, and I thank the voice, still unsure where to actually direct everything I say to the software.

Jarvis is an incredible piece of technology, programmed to Tony's liking, even incorporating a wry sense of humor in his answers, which is unsurprising.

"Y'know, you can call me Peter, Jarvis. I'm nineteen."

"Alright, Peter. If I may, it appears you've grown thinner as of late. I don't mean to pry, Peter, but are you well?"

I scrunch my nose, looking down at myself. I mean, I'm lean, but I don't think I'm too skinny. "Huh. Guess living off instant noodles just aren't cuttin' it." I hum.

I'd like to think that Jarvis would chuckle at that if he could. "You're a growing boy; you should be eating at least 2,400 calories per day, even more since you're fairly active. And your metabolism is astronomically fast, from my initial scans of all Mister Stark's interns." Jarvis presses, and I wonder if Jarvis has any idea that I'm Spider-Man. "I'll try harder, Jarvis. Thanks."

Moving past the check-in, I stand and wait for the elevator, agents and top-secret business men and women alike darting across the lobby to get on with more important things, the bustle and noise never seeming to end.

The first elevator is full, packed with men and women in dark suits and high-clearance ID badges, speaking a jumble of things that surely must be important.

I could literally scale this entire tower right now in thirty seconds flat , I think, blowing out a breath as I wait for the next elevator, my back toward the wall of windows in Stark's lobby.

In a split second, my body goes rigid, a shiver going through my spine. I feel eyes on me, tension suddenly thick in the air. I tighten my grip on my skateboard, narrowing my eyes and listening intently.

Something's wrong.

"Nerd boy! Heads up!" Someone shouts. Before I can even whip my head around, the windows shatter with a single gunshot, shards falling to the floor and ricocheting onto me. Immediately, there's a flash of red, and I'm tackled to the ground, the breath rushing out of me as I collide with hard linoleum floor, crying out as my head hits the ground, my skateboard skidding across the floor.

As soon as I'm knocked to the floor, a full round of deafening shots go off, civilians and SHIELD members alike shouting and ducking for cover.

The shots ring closer to me, and the figure above me ducks his head in the crook of my shoulder, using his forearms to cover my head, his body straddling mine tightly. I grit my teeth, squirming under him to get leverage.

"Sorry 'bout that, Baby Boy. Hope I didn't hurt you too bad. I'm pretty sure those bullets would've hurt more though, yeah?"

I resist the urge to use my super strength and push the larger man off of me, partly because, if I didn't know better, these assassins were trying to shoot at me .

The shots are coming out less frequently now, more precise and closer to me and the man in red. Slowly, the man lifts his head to look down at me, bracketing his forearms on either side of my head.

My eyes widen at the man looking down at me. I don't need to be Spider-Man to know who's infamous mask this is. As Spider-Man, I have spend a considerable amount of time with Deadpool, the most recent being only three weeks ago. Christ. This was bad. Bad bad bad.

What if he recognizes my voice? My attitude? My body?

" Deadpool ?" I shout, my surprise getting the better of me. "Oh, my god! What the hell is going -" A large hand is clamped over my mouth, an expressive mask looking down at me. "Shut your beautiful mouth, kid! Wait - ah, shit, are you a kid? How old are you? You're too pretty to be a minor. You're kind of scrawny, but, like, not child scrawny, y'know? And," Deadpool says, squirming for a moment above me. I make a disgruntled sound as I stare up questioningly at the contract killer for answers. "And," he continues. "you have an ID badge on your pants. So, hopefully you're not a kid, or else - ah!"

Without a second thought, I bite down on Deadpool's fingers covering my mouth and he pulls his hand away with a hiss. "Did you - did you just bite me?" Deadpool asks, cocking his head.

Shit.

"I gotta say, I didn't peg you as the type. But, hey, I'm all for biting. What's your safeword, and do you believe in aftercare?" Deadpool purrs, and I clench my jaw in indignation, though my cheeks flush. "I bit you 'cause you were covering my mouth." I say, breathless, my head stinging.

"How come you're not terrified of doing something like that to me? I could kill you. Easily." Deadpool says, but it comes out hesitant.

"I think shielding me with your body negates that claim." I huff out, and Deadpool watches me thoughtfully for a moment before shrugging. "Oh, nerd talk. True that, Baby Boy." He agrees, but I think there's more to what he's thinking.

At least ten seconds pass of mostly uninterrupted gunfire, Deadpool humming what I swear is Hollaback Girl under his breath, until there is a buzzing, blissful silence. "They ran out of ammo. Either they're done for now, or they're reloading." The mercenary says quietly.

Deadpool jumps into action immediately, standing up and pulling me with him, turning me toward the elevators and pushing me along, standing directly behind me as we walk quickly to the doors of the elevator.

Shots blare out again, hitting hard linoleum and ricocheting off the ground, making me jolt, the movements making my vision double momentarily and my head pound.

Not good , I think.

"Use those gorgeous legs and run!" Deadpool pushes, getting a running start before he grabs onto my waist and quite literally shoves me into the open elevator doors, diving in after me.

I land gracefully, my advanced agility helping me. I pretend to stumble to keep up the act, pressing myself against the elevator wall as Deadpool tumbles in as the doors close shut.

Through breathless pants, we hear bullets pinging against the closed metal doors. Deadpool presses the button for the 92nd floor, containing the Avenger's conference rooms and Tony's penthouse. I had only been there once, when Tony explained the potential risks of my intern position. Deadpool rocks back on his heels, humming again as he stares straight ahead.

Floor 12.

I blink at him, mouth parted as I stare in shock. My head is pounding and several parts of my body sting where glass must be embedded in my skin, but Deadpool is far worse.

The arms and back of his suit are torn slightly, blood seeping through the red material, although the scarred skin beneath it is merely that - scarred.

"Are - are you okay? Your suit is kind of banged up, and there's blood, but no wounds." I say, furrowing my brows. Deadpool starts, turning to me and cocking his head.

"Me? Aren't you sweet. I'm fine, Baby Boy, I heal."

"Like, a healing factor?" I feign confusion. I know what a healing factor is, of course, but I was never entirely sure of the extent of Deadpool's. People have said remarkable things about it, how it was the same healing factor Wolverine has. My healing factor is shit, which sucks.

Floor 27.

"You could say that, I guess?" Wade hums, looks off to the left as if listening to someone before turning back to me.

"Uh, thanks. For, you know, shielding me, and - uh -" My head is pounding in time with my heartbeat, and it's hard to vocalize my thoughts, my head lolling against the back wall. "Yeah, don't mention it, kid. If I'm right, we'll be seeing a lot of each other." Deadpool shrugs, picking at a loose seam on his suit. "From what I saw in the lobby - hey, wait, you good?" Deadpool asks, and suddenly he's very close to me.

Floor 38.

"I - hey!" I exclaim, jumping as Deadpool places hands on my waist. "Ah, shut it. I'm not gonna hurt you any." Deadpool says, and it's probably the most serious thing he's said thus far.

I think I'm putting my trust in Deadpool too quickly, but my Spidey senses aren't suggesting that Deadpool is particularly bad.

"But I'm going to feel for broken bones." The mercenary says sternly, and, far more gentle than I anticipated, Deadpool runs his fingers over my ribs, under my arms, pressing along each arm and rotating my wrists for sprains or fractures, sliding his index finger down my spine for bulges or stiffness, making quick work of prodding at my hips, knees and ankles. Deadpool winces in sympathy as he prods at several small shards of glass wedged in my pant leg, and a cluster on my chest, little pools of blood dotting them.

The elevator dings open at the 42nd floor, and two women with earpieces and suits on stare at the scene in front of them, a man in spandex on his knees in front of me, my head tossed back against the wall, before pressing the elevator closed, saying they'll take the next one.

"Why did they - oh . I - uh, I think they thought you were -"

"Probably." Wade agrees.

"But I work here." I whine.

He springs back up, several inches taller than me, staring down at me with what I think is a grin.

"Well, now you've got rumors about you! Your reputation will precede you. Wait - seriously, how old are you?" Deadpool says as an afterthought, slowly reaching his hands up to press against my skull, starting from my forehead and working back, feeling for blood or bumps. He turns my face with one finger, examining my left temple, making a sound of distaste. "Ouch. That's a nasty one," He mumbles, peering closer at me.

He then holds my chin with one hands and moves a finger side to side in front of my face, watching as my eyes follow the finger.

Deadpool snaps his fingers in front of my face, moving their position slightly with each snap, and I groan, clutching my head as dizziness washes over me, stumbling. Deadpool immediately has his hands out, catching my arms and pressing me back against the wall. "Didn't know you'd swoon for me." Deadpool says, and I can practically hear his smile. I want to give him a sarcastic remark, but my head hurts too much.

Floor 71.

"I think you have a concussion. I'm not a doctor, or anything like that, 'cause, you know, mercenary , but I'm pretty sure your head got a little jumbled. There's an angry lookin' bruise on your temple. And you've got some glass in you. Nothin' permanent, though." Deadpool shrugs. "How old are you?" He repeats.

"Twenty-one." I lie.

"Liar, liar, tight pants on fire." Deadpool sing-songs. "How old are you really?"

I hesitate, ducking my head before responding. "Nineteen."

"Oh-em-gee." Deadpool says in a high-pitched voice, bringing his hands to his face in a shocked gesture. "Barely legal."

I scrunch up my nose at that. "Uh -"

"So, that begs the question, who is trying to un-alive you, Baby Boy? Who did you piss off at nineteen years old?"

Floor 84.

I frown, narrowing my eyes at the mercenary. Could somebody know I'm Spider-Man? Is that possible? What if some organization wants to use my DNA, or take me hostage and force me to join some type of league, or experiment on me? Is Weapon X still active in America? What if someone wants to kill me to impersonate Spider-Man.

Or, what if they truly think I'm only Peter Parker, a photographer for The Daily Bugle, and want to interrogate me on where Spider-Man could be?

"I - I don't -" My vision is blurring around the edges, my blood rushing through my ears as my knees buckle. I can hear everything with hyper-sensitivity, my powers always out of my control when I'm weak or sick. "Alright, then. I've got you, Baby Boy." Deadpool soothes, dipping down to lift me effortlessly, one gloved hand under my knees and the other against my back.

"Hey - Deadpool! I'm fine ." I argue, though my head is spinning where it's resting on Deadpool's shoulder.

"Right. No, of course you're fine. Is that why you're looking three inches to my left at my eye-level, where you're seeingdoubles?" Deadpool asks, like he's pleased with himself for being right. I don't say anything, frowning.

"Oh, the readers are gonna love this." Deadpool says, hefting me up a bit.

"Wh-what?" I slur, narrowing my eyes at the mercenary. "Who're you talking to, Deadpool?" I question, but I'm afraid to know the answer.

"Don't worry your pretty little head, Baby Boy. Let's get you to Dr. Smashy. " Deadpool says excitedly.

Doctor What ? "D'you mean Dr. Banner?" I ask shrilly.

"Obviously. And let's find out what the ever-loving fuck is going on today."

Floor 92.

The doors slide open, and Deadpool strides out, carrying me like I don't weigh a thing, which is a real testament to just how strong Deadpool is. He's still humming Hollaback Girl .

Chapter 2: Hot Mess. Like, Really Hot.

Notes:

Wade's POV is incredibly hard to write, because I'm essentially writing three POV's in one (Yellow, White, and Wade), so tell me how you liked it!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

[ Yellow's text box ]

{ White's text box }

"How d'you know I was planning on seeing Tony and Bruce t'day?" The kid slurs, and I glance down at him. His temple isn't bleeding anymore, but he looks drunk. Which I assume isn't normal.

"Well, Boy Wonder, I saw your ID card. You're too young to be an agent, so intern it is. And, I was called in for some super special mega-secret mission to protect some kid. So, when you got shot at, I figured you're the kid I'm supposed to be protecting." I shrug. "Could be wrong, though. I'm wrong a lot."

The kid doesn't respond.

"Kid?"

"'M not a kid. We established that already." The kid - sorry, the man , mumbles.

{ Look how cute, trying to be all grown-up. }

[Talk about jail bait central.]

Don't joke about that , I think at the boxes.

{Touchy, touchy.}

"Whatever you say, kid." I grin.

{ What if we drop him? }

[ The big guy wouldn't drop him! He's too pretty to fall. Look at him. ]

Yellow's right. Kid's a looker. He got this dark, scruffy hair. And really pretty brown eyes, like a doe, with these dark hipster glasses on. And he's got cute little beauty marks everywhere. He's lanky - he has a lithe frame, but there's definitely some lean muscle under there.

[ He's fit. But not, like, body-builder fit. ]

{ Maybe he's a runner? Oh! Gymnast? Acrobat? }

[ Sweet and sour Jesus. A gymnast .]

{ And, look at those lips. }

[ Those lips could do all sorts of things. Like - ]

"Ah, shut up." I grunt, glancing down at the kid, who doesn't seem to pay any mind to my internal monologue.

[ He should eat more. He doesn't weigh a thing. ]

{ We could make him some of our banana pancakes. Those would fill him up. }

[ I know something else that fill him up real good. ]

Yikes.

Enough! I think with such a ferocity that Yellow doesn't respond, which even surprises me . We do not know this fucking gorgeous boy, and you'll shut the fuck up about anything involving sexy times until we know him! We'd just be psyching ourself out, anyway.

I'm not sure how many moments have passed, but this hallway is really fucking long.

{ The author tends to forget about keeping the story rolling when he writes dialogue. The hallway will end soon .}

His head is lolling against my shoulder, and I remember that he may have a concussion. I heft him up a bit roughly to rouse him. "You, uh, you should stay awake. What's your name, Baby Boy?" I ask.

He seems to hesitate for a moment, his eyebrows knitting, a frown taking place on his lips. It's like he's contemplating telling me his name to protect some alter-ego he has.

[ Wow. I mean, wow. You're in for a surprise. ]

{ Maybe he has a worse concussion than we thought… Has he forgotten his name? }

"'M Peter Parker." The boy - Peter, mumbles after some time.

Peter .

[ Oh! His name is an alliteration like ours! He must be important. ]

"Peter." I say, sounding it out as I stride to Tony's conference room.

{ So, is this the Tobey Maguire version of Peter? Andrew Garfield? Or the Dylan O'brien version?}

[I'm a sucker for the Dylan O'brien version. Mmh.]

{Plus, big guy's description of him fits Dylan O'brien the best.}

[We're still Ryan Reynolds, though, right?]

{Dude, we're always Ryan Reynolds. Plus the gross scars, but, you know.}

[Well, yeah.]

"Well, alright then, Peter Parker." I say, shifting him in my arms to get a better grip, because all hell is about to break loose, for sure.

"You ready, Petey?" I ask, and Peter narrows his eyes at me.

"I'm so confused." He mumbles.

"Adorable." I say off-handedly, before kicking the door open with my foot.

Tony, Steve, and Banner stop their frantic damage control to turn wide-eyed at me.

" Surprise! I've brought a package, with a great package. "

"Wait, wh - oh . Deadpool," Peter says, "shut up."

I chuckle, looking down at Peter's petulant face.

"Peter," Tony says shrilly, coming forward in quick strides, Bruce and Steve close behind. "I - I don't - what the holy hellhappened ? Wade ?"

"Cool it, Tin Man, Petey is fine. Or, he's fine-ish. A little fine. He's - well, he's mostly fine. Just a concussion." I resign.

The three men are immediately crowded around me, Bruce reaching out to do gods know what, and Tony, the short little tyke, seething at me, with Steve towering over all of them, reaching a palm out to take the kid's temperature, or something old people do.

Peter makes a sound of discomfort, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his face away.

And, well, that's a call for help if I've ever seen one.

I clutch Peter closer to my chest, stepping away from the herd of panicked Avengers to give Peter space.

"Calm down, super family. You're freaking him out. He's like a puppy." I say, and there's a hard edge to my voice that shocks me.

"I am not like a puppy." Peter says.

"We are not freaking him out." Tony says at the same time.

I stare down at Peter, back at the frazzled bunch of Avengers, and then back down at Peter, who watches them warily.

"Yeah, you're freaking him out a little. Calm down. Dr. Smashy, you first. The boy needs a medic." I say dramatically, and walk over to the conference area - a circular couch with a fire pit in the middle of it, setting Peter down on the sofa.

"Someone better start explaining why my lobby became a firing range . Right now!"

Peter winces and curls his knees to his chest. He looks up at me.

{ What's he want? }

[ I - um. I don't know. ]

I frown, sitting next to him, our sides not exactly touching, and Peter sighs, his shoulders relaxing.

[ Holy shit! That can't be real .]

{ I think that actually happened. }

[ Did Peter like when we sat next to him? ]

{ I - I think so. Look at him - he's not nearly as freaked out. }

[ We typically have the opposite effect on the youth. And everyone. ]

{ Don't fucking jinx it. I'm still not even sure this is actually happening. }

"You good, Baby Boy?" I ask, fidgeting with my hands in my lap, and Peter nods, sitting cross-legged as Bruce crouches in front of him, tipping his chin up to stare at each other levelly. "I'm good." He assures.

"Not really." Bruce murmurs, narrowing his eyes as he shines a thin light in both of Peter's eyes. "You definitely have a concussion."

"It's not like I said that or anything." I huff, leaning back on the couch.

"You. Tell me what happened." Steve says to me, walking forward with Tony.

"Well," I say, spreading my hands. "Picture this. A beautiful, crisp autumn day. There I am, in your lobby, because you called me in. And, then, I spot this pretty boy with the nerd glasses and cute ass -"

" Deadpool ." Tony bites, and I hold my hands out in a placating gesture. ""Calm down, Rusty, I'm setting the scene."

Tony seethes. Peter looks meek, but I think he's smiling.

"Anyway. I'm taking in my surroundings, and then I see the kid. And then, I see the red laser dot on the kid's back." I say it slowly, like I'm explaining it to kids.

{ They're basically kids. }

[ True. ]

"So I tackled the shit out of him, but his head hit the floor before I could slide a hand under there. So, concussion."

Tony blows out a breath, sitting on the table in front of us and pinching the bridge of his nose.

{ Bit cliche, don't you think? ]

"I shielded him with my body - by the way, do you feed this kid? It was way too easy to cover him."

"Deadpool, continue ." Steve snaps, louder than usual, and I'm about to mock him, but Peter jumps.

" Hey ." I grit. " Cool it, grandpa . You're the only Avenger I really like, but damn . I know you're all pissing yourselves trying to contain the situation, but Petey's not right in the head right now. Tone it down a few notches."

Bruce clears his throat before prodding around Peter's head, glancing up at the two Avengers. "Deadpool is, uh, right. Keep it down. He's disoriented and hurt." He says, moving to sit on the couch beside Peter.

"Is this all true, Peter?" Bruce asks, and Peter nods. "They kept shooting around me 'nd Deadpool for a while, until they were reloading, and Deadpool grabbed me and ran into the elevator." He mumbles. "And then he made sure I didn't break anything."

Everyone turns to me, then, and I cock my head. "I was in the army. I had basic medical training. Or, enough to know that nothing's broken or sprained."

Bruce nods at me. "Alright. I'm taking your word for it. Tony, explain the mission."

Tony stares between us for a moment before sighing. "Right. So, for the past two weeks, Jarvis has noticed an unsettling about of suspicious behavior from an unknown source. This said unknown source has been surveilling you, Peter. We've uncovered videos of your commute to the Tower, of you approaching your apartment, even your Aunt's home."

Peter takes a sharp breath, immediately tense. "Why? I - what does anyone want with me?" He asks.

"It's possible this is due to the fact of your intern position here. You're at the forefront of every new scientific and genetic observation we make. That is considered highly valuable information to the right parties." Bruce says quietly, lifting Peter's arms to look at the spattering of blood on his waist from the glass shards.

"Hold up. What parties are we talking about? Illegal genetic testing parties?" I ask, instantly coiled, my hands in tight fists at my sides.

"Perhaps. Which is why we called you here, Deadpool. We knew someone was watching Peter, but we didn't know it would advance to this. You say you've wanted to change? You want to slowly leave the mercenary business? You want to prove yourself? Protect Peter. Give us any intel you discover about this party while we try to find them." Steve says, crossing his arms in all his muscular patriotic glory.

{ We're not getting paid for this, are we? }

[ I don't think so. ]

This is the exact opposite of my job description, but I don't see it as a burden, for some god-forsaken reason.

"Sure thing. I'll be Baby Boy's bodyguard."

"I'm being serious." Steve says.

"Oh, so am I." I assure. "Scout's honor." I make the salute with my right hand.

"Were you really a boy scout?" Peter asks, voice laced with doubt.

"I can be anything you want me to be, Petey." I purr, and he blushes this obscene shade of pink.

"For fuck's sake," Tony says, huffing and moving behind his bar, pouring vodka into a shot glass. "Do you understand what we need you to do, Deadpool?"

"Yes, mom."

"You will be with him in public, you will be aware of his whereabouts, you will take every precaution to keep both of you safe, you will report back to us every night on any changes…" Steve lists them off, staring at me intently. I yawn, pretend to start snoring.

"And," Tony says, pausing to phrase his next words, his stern voice cutting through my excellent improv acting, " recreationwise, you will not do anything to make him uncomfortable." He raises an eyebrow, waving his glass between Peter and me. Steve casts an angry look at Tony.

{ What the fuck did the nearly geriatric, alcoholic avenger just say? }

I freeze, sitting up on the edge of the couch. My chest burns. "Really? D'you really think I'd do something like that ? Just because I'm the occasional contract killer doesn't mean I have no sense of morality. I wouldn't hurt him." I snap, forcing myself to keep my hands in my lap, neutral. I'd never force myself on anyone, or hurt someone who didn't deserve it. My head pounds angrily and by heartbeat jack-rabbits just at the thought of it.

Nobody says anything. I could probably cut through the tension in the room with my katanas.

Bruce leaves the scene to avoid the stress, returning with a cold compress and pressing it to Peter's temple.

The lull in conversation continues. Either the super family feels guilty, or they're mentally figuring out how to make sure I don't harass Peter. In which case, ouch .

Peter then clears his throat. "I trust you." He whispers into silence. "Considering I'm the one you've all been talking about for the last twenty minutes, and that I'm the one who'll be spending time with you, I think I'm really the only one who needs to trust you." He says, looking across at me.

The boxes are silent.

Someone trusts me. Peter trusts me. I've just met him, and not only is he not disturbed, but he trusts me.

"You don't know him, Peter. We can always get someone else to watch you." Tony looks like he's one step away from calling Jarvis to find someone else to take my place.

"He shielded me with his own body during open fire in your lobby. He talks about my ass a lot, but that doesn't make me scared to be around him. So far, I'm pretty entertained."

"You have a concussion." Bruce says flatly.

"I could've been shot. So, who's the real winner?" Peter asks, and he chuckles to himself.

Judging by the faces of the hero trio, Peter doesn't normally act like this.

"Right. Well. Should I know anything about him?" I ask, pointing to a very dazed Peter on the couch.

"He's incredibly smart." Tony says.

"No, like, important stuff." I amend.

"He's observant, sarcastic, and quick on his feet. The concussion, however, is making him sluggish and uncoordinated right now. Make sure it doesn't get any worse. Don't let him sleep longer than four hour stretches tonight. He probably needs to get the glass wounds on his chest cleaned, but it isn't an immediate issue." Bruce fills in.

[ Petey's our type of man .]

I store Bruce's instructions away in my mind. "Anything else?"

"You know where to find us if something arises." Bruce says. "Go home, guys."

I stand, stretching before staring down at Peter. "So, am I just gonna carry him home? I mean, don't get me wrong - he doesn't weigh a thing, and he's surprisingly cuddly, but people might shit bricks if they saw us walking across town.

[ We should get a taxi back to his place. ]

Tony sighs. "Don't be a smartass."

"No, impossible, that's out of the question." I say decidedly. and Tony ignores me. "Jarvis, have a car take Deadpool and Peter back to his apartment. Make sure they aren't followed."

"A cab! You read my dirty mind, Tin Man!" I grin, patting myself down to make sure all my pouches are still on my belt. "Alright, well, this has been fun." I say, clapping my gloved hands together.

Peter, bless his slow-healing self, makes a move to stand up, getting to his feet before stumbling. "Not too fast, Baby Boy." I warn. I dip down to catch him around the waist, standing up with Peter over my shoulder. He makes a noise of indignation, but I wrap an arm over the back of his legs and start walking to the door.

{He's a hot mess.}

[Oh! The title!]

"This has been amazeballs , really. We should catch up again sometime soon." I call out, and Jarvis opens the door for me, Peter's arms swaying against the backs of my thighs, his head on my back.

"Toodles!" I sing.

"I - what just happened." I hear Tony whisper.

"C'mon, Peter, let's get you all comfy at home."

[ We're gonna see Petey's place! ]

{ I wonder if it's all nerdy. }

"My apartment is small and cold. There's always clothes on the floor. And no food in the fridge." Peter murmurs, and I can just hear the frown on his face.

"Shut up, Petey." I say, not angrily, sliding into the elevator and pressing the DOWN button with my hip.

"M'kay." Peter slurs.

[ He seems pretty out of it .

{ Still cute, though. }

"You really trust me?"

{ Nobody trusts you, Wade. }

"Yeah. You're like… a chaotic neutral." Peter hums. I can feel him playing with the katanas sheathes.

I smile proudly. "Aw, shucks. I'm blushing."

Peter snorts out a laugh.

"Okay, Baby Boy, let's go play house . I'll even be the wife, if you want. I've got some nice dresses. I look damn good in 'em, too." I grin excitedly, humming the first song that comes to mind as the elevator lurches down.

Notes:

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Chapter 3: Catch Me.

Notes:

wow wow wow thank you guys for so many hits and such positive feedback! I hadn't expected such great reviews!

THIS CHAPTER IS VERY INAPPROPRIATE, BUT ALSO CUTE. PLEASE ENJOY.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

PETER PARKER

The ride back to my apartment is a daze. The driver passed my apartment complex at least three times now, but she insisted on taking a different route each time to assure that we weren't being followed. Deadpool ducked down and sat by me in the backseat, sliding in beside me.

Since then, he hasn't stopped talking.

The car reeks of cigarettes, leather, and cheap cologne, and I cradle my head against the nausea. I'm slumped against Deadpool's shoulder and too pained to care, my knees curled to my chest. Deadpool has an arm around the back of the seat. For his part, he's behaving, and is even bordering on protective .

"D'you like Mexican food, Petey? Mexican is amazing. Chimichangas are my favorite. The word itself is the best part -chimichanga." Deadpool says, sounding it out slowly, as if savoring the word itself. I make a sound of acknowledgement, tentatively touching my head, pressing at my temple and hissing in pain.

Damn good-for-nothing healing factor.

Tony's driver hits a speedbump and I lurch forward less than five inches before Deadpool whips a hand across my chest, pinning me back against the seat and reaching over to buckle me in before continuing.

"But, really, though, chimichangas are fucking gorgeous. They are the ultimate food, Peter. It's just deep-fried, meaty goodness, all wrapped in a tight little package. And I really do love when things are tight, you know. I know the spandex suit is a bitch, but I can get turned on just thinking about it." He groans, and I look at him questioningly, risking a quick glance at his lap.

"Just kidding!" He laughs. "Mostly."

"Didn't know you were into meat." I say off-handedly, and Deadpool gasps. "Oh! Petey's a sassy little thing when he's not in severe head pain! I like it - the whole dirty humor thing." He nods to himself before continuing.

"I'm into all sorts of people, Baby Boy. I don't give two fucks about what's between their legs. I mean, I'd be between their legs, on a good day, but whatever." He shrugs.

It takes a moment for my foggy mind to realize what he said, but my cheeks flush. "Got it." My voice cracks.

Deadpool finishes his discussion of various Mexican foods before turning to me again. "Y'know, I'm gonna have to patch you up a little once we get to your place." Deadpool says, as soon as the cab screeches to a halt in front of my apartment building.

"I'll be real gentle, though, so you don't have to worry." He assures, and I unbuckle my seatbelt. "I won't break, you know." I say, and I thank the driver before sliding out. The discreet black car drives off.

"Yeah, Peter, but -" He starts but stops short, seeming to change his mind. "Just letting you know." He amends.

A wave of dizziness washes over me, my vision darkening again, and Deadpool has a hand around my waist immediately. "Don't get me wrong - pretty boys swooning over me is amazing, but I think you should take it easy. I forget that not everyone has fucking amazing healing factors like me." He says, and we slowly walk to the lobby, Deadpool taking most of my weight in stride.

Agonizingly slow, we finally make it to my door, and I lean against Deadpool to fumble in my pockets for my keys, unlocking the door with blurred vision. I stumble inside into the living room, immediately dropping my backpack onto the ground by my shoes and gesturing for Deadpool to follow.

The couch is worn out a bit, the coffee table has mug stains on it, and there's a litter of college projects and Stark's research assignments on my small desk. My bed in the other room isn't made. Polaroid photographs cover the wall my that bed is pushed against, an array of sunsets and bridges, and steaming coffee and somber candids, rain drops and dust on rails, freckled cheeks and veiny arms, and, of course, Spider-Man, posing comedically to anger Jameson when I turn the photos in for extra money. The heater makes a pitiful sound in the winter and the windows shudder against the cold.

But, it's home. It's mine.

I take pride in the little place despite all its faults, because it's only place I can truly call home. I knew I had to move out of Aunt May's as soon as I turned 18 - being Spider-Man is too dangerous. If I somehow ended up getting her hurt because I was under her roof, I would never forgive myself. It was out of the question.

"It's, uh, it's not much. It's always cold and the floor is creaky, but it's home." I shrug, feeling suddenly self-conscious that Deadpool is in my home. My small apartment is in organized chaos.

Surely being a mercenary makes good money, and I have no fucking clue what he's thinking with that mask on.

Deadpool, however, takes a breath, looking around relaxedly and nodding. "Nah, 's nice. It fits you. It's better than my place, that's for damn sure." He shrugs, casually setting his katanas on the coffee table in front of the couch.

After a moment, Deadpool sits me on the couch before immediately scouring every corner of my place. He peers out every window from various angles, inspects every shelf and corner and alcove. He's looking for vantage points out the windows, and cameras in my apartment, I think. I watch him blearily from my spot on the couch as he removes a gun from the holster around his waist, and sets it on the coffee table. He takes one off the strap on his right thigh and places it in a kitchen drawer.

"These are gonna stay here, Baby Boy, okay? And I'll put one in your bedroom. Besides, who doesn't love gun foreplay?" He says, pulling out a cloth from one of the pouches round his waist, removing a smaller gun from a strap on his ankle, stroking the barrel languidly, tipping his head up with a sigh. I look from his masked face to his large hands wrapped around the gun's barrel before instinctively resting my arms in my lap, mouth parted.

"Question - is getting you all flustered considered taking advantage of you while you're in a weakened state?" He asks, and I think he expects an answer.

"I - I'm not - what? I'm not flustered." I stammer.

Convincing, Peter, really. Excellent performance. Spider-Man wouldn't have been so bad at this.

"That's cute, Petey, real cute."

He finally puts the weapon under the couch. I stare, heat rushing to my cheeks.

"I - uh. Are - are you," I cough, scrubbing a hand over my neck, mentally forming my sentence.

I don't know how, but I'm certain Deadpool is grinning under his mask.

"Are you gonna kill someone?" I ask.

"If they try to kill you , yes." He says it tersely.

I want to argue. I have a no-kill rule. Everyone deserves a second chance, an alternative punishment. But I also know that Deadpool kills bad people for a living, and there could be worse things. There's really no use arguing.

"Anyway, where's your first aid kit?" Deadpool asks, poking around in the kitchen. "Bathroom medicine cabinet." I mumble, pointing to the bathroom door right off my bedroom. Deadpool skips off and I stare after him, my mind reeling with the events that took place this morning. I curl on my side on the couch, burrowing into the cushions. Sleep is creeping up quickly on me, my head throbbing in pain as my eyes fall shut.

"Aw, no, Petey, sorry. You've gotta stay awake for a few more minutes." Deadpool says quietly, jolting me out of sleep. He sits on the coffee table directly in front of me, first aid kit in his lap. "You've gotta strip your shirt. Sorry." He says, like he's guilty .

"'S fine." I murmur, pulling my shirt off over my head, setting it down in a crumpled heap on the couch.

"Jesus weeps, Baby Boy, look at you." Deadpool breathes, giving me a once over. I fidget, but I don't exactly cover up. I look down at myself and shrug.

I have a lean frame and lean muscles, a lanky teenage gymnast's body. There's a fine trail of smooth dark hair dipping into my waistband. I'm nothing particularly special, aside from being, you know, The Amazing Spider-Man . Which is pretty damn special, but, still.

I actually have the occasional raised scar on my torso from harder fights, but if Deadpool notices, or cares, he doesn't say anything.

Not that I think he would care about scars, seeing as how bad the rumors about him are.

"Seriously, you an athlete, or somethin'?" He asks, and heat rises to my cheeks, partly because I need to bullshit an answer.

"Acrobatics. I - I do acrobatics." I blurt, and it's not really a lie , exactly.

"I bet you do, Petey." He hums, giving a growl.

"Shut up." I argue unenthusiastically.

"Alright, alright." He resigns, and then he reaches out to grab me under each knee, pulling me so that I'm sitting at the very edge of the couch, much closer to Deadpool. We're face to face, but I've no clue what his expression could be under his mask. My ears burn.

He opens the first aid kit on his lap, rummaging about and humming under his breath. He pulls out anti-bacterial cream, medical tape, and gauze, shutting the kit and quite literally tossing it onto the floor behind him. "Some of those look pretty nasty, Baby Boy. I'll patch you up quick. Humans and their shitty healing factors." He mumbles, huffing out a laugh.

This is the first time I actually look at myself. Deadpool is right. Covering my right hip is a network of lashes from the glass shards, blood smeared around the gashes. Some cuts are deeper than others, more blood pooling by them in particular. With something other than the pain of my head to focus on, I realize how much the cuts sting, my hip throbbing.

Deadpool unwraps a thick wad of gauze, and pours alcohol onto it before looking back at me. "This - well, this is gonna hurt like a mother fucker, Petey Boy. You only have rubbing alcohol." He explains, and I swallow hard, nodding. Deadpool scoots forward further, bracketing my legs with his, as if knowing that I would move. I grip the couch cushions to brace myself.

"Want a countdown? Safeword? I personally use 'go on', if that influences your decision in any way." Deadpool asks. I stare, eyes wide, my face hot.

I don't know if he's joking or not.

He's actually waiting for an answer

"N-no, I don't -"

Without hesitation, he presses the alcohol gauze onto my waist, splaying his hand over my stomach to cover the wound. I grit my teeth against my scream, jolting back instinctively and pinning his wrist to the table sharply before releasing.

Deadpool hisses, immediately reeling back, hands held up in a placating gesture. "Fuck me sideways, you're stronger than you look, anybody ever told you that?" He asks.

I squeeze my eyes shut against the stinging on my waist and the pounding of my head, curling my legs to my chest.

Deadpool backpedals, hesitating before kneeling on the ground in front of the couch to get closer. "Hey, it's alright. Hey - Peter, hey, it's - I'll tell you before I do everything, if you want, alright? Is that okay?" He asks me, looking back at me with masked eyes.

I take a shuddering breath, getting over the burn of my stomach. "W-what's your name?"

He sits on the edge of the table, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches me. "Wade Wilson. Some people even scream it, in varying degrees of pleasure."

"Wade." I repeat. I've never known his name until now. I wonder if he looks like a Wade. As Spider-Man, I've only ever seen his mouth when he'd pulled his mask up enough to eat tacos. The skin there was scarred - varying in intensity on any given day. Once it looked like new, raised nebulous scars, full of pain. Another time, they resembled scars of bad teenage acne, and that was all. I do know, however, that it's only his skin that is marred. Physically, his body is in good athletic shape. Tall, strong jaw beneath the scars, athletically muscular, but not like he pumps himself full of steroids. I wonder what he looked like before . "Wade Wilson." I sound it out again, but I can't possibly know if he fits his name at all.

"Well, Baby Boy, that didn't sound very pleasure-filled." He says, crossing his arms.

"Well, that's because I don't have a pain kink, Wade. Alcohol in open wounds isn't particularly pleasant." I murmur, and Wade sits up straight, making a sound of surprise.

"Cheeky little shit, aren't you, Baby Boy? Is this how you usually are when you're not hurtin'?" He asks with growing interest, "Or are you always all quiet and nerdy?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." I huff, clutching my side protectively. "How come you were so willing to tell me your real name?"

Wade hums in thought before answering. "'Cause I don't have anyone I need to protect. Nobody can get to me if they know my name. I have nothing to lose." He shrugs.

He says it so plainly, so normally, so resigned in his isolation.

"That - that's horrible." My voice cracks and I don't intend it to, my head swimming.

"It's better that way, Baby Boy, you don't know the half of it."

Yes, I do.

There's a lull in conversation, and Wade waits patiently, swaying side to side melodically as if listening to a song, the gauze drenched with alcohol still in his gloved hands. He seems almost relaxed, his hands lax between his legs.

After a moment, I lower my legs back down to the ground, sniffing, my shoulders slumping in tiredness and body pliant. I move my hands from my stomach, and I think Wade smiles.

"There you are, Petey Boy. I'll let you know before I do everything this time, 'kay?" He says, pulling me to the edge of the couch once more, taking his place to bracket my legs with his. I nod, and he straightens his back. "I'm going to put the alcohol on your cuts again, okay? And I'm going to do that to wipe off all the blood so I can see if you need a few stitches."

I nod again, shoving my hands between my legs to avoid reaching out to stop Wade.

"If you wanted some affection, you just had to ask." Wade chuckles, looking down before peering at my wound.

"Ah, shut up. I'm trying not to hit you again." I grit out, cheeks flushed.

"Alright, alright, you ready?" He asks, tightening his thighs around my legs to keep me still. I nod, holding my breath.

Without hesitation, Deadpool presses the gauze onto my waist, one hand gripping my knee to keep me still, the other tight on the gauze. "Pressing it here'll loosen the dried blood." He explains. I bite down a curse, instinctively doubling over. Wade puts a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back up. "Don't block me, Baby Boy."

He presses the gauze tighter against my skin and I squeeze my eyes shut, toes curling.

"I sure wish you were doing that for other reasons, Petey."

"Shut up, Wade." I grit out, white-knuckle grip on my thighs.

"I'm gonna start wiping now, okay? Just - ah, I don't fuckin' know, Petey, just try not to hit me again. Remember, the safe word is 'cock slut.'"

I shoot him a look from under my lashes, my jaw clenched.

"Alrighty, understood. Moving on." Wade says, and then he drags the gauze down my wound, swiping up roughly to catch blood. My body tenses, my abdomen coiling under his hands, taking in a sharp breath as I sit rigid. Wade tosses the bloodied gauze aside and quickly soaks a new strip, sweeping it over the cuts again, and I subconsciously lean away from him, a pained sound escaping me.

"I'm starting to feel like an ass." Deadpool comments, "But, I'd love to feel your ass."

"I'm going to hit you." I hiss, wincing in pain as Wade kneels lower to examine the now cleaner cuts, occasionally wiping with the alcohol. " Ooh . Okay, Peter, but only if we use the safe word. Have you ever tried anything like that?"

I am going to beat him. But, like, in the bad way.

Something thick spreads over my stomach, making me cringe in discomfort, gasping. " Money shot ." Wade comments, and I clench my hands to keep from breaking his.

"Can you s-stop being so goddamn inappropriate and just please finish -"

"Finish this, you mean?" Wade cuts me off, crumpling up the second bloody gauze and setting it besides the first on the table, pulling out a clean one and ripping off two strips of medical tape. "I'm done."

"I was seriously concerned you would pass out, and contrary to popular belief, I only like hearing people whine and writhe during very particular situations." Deadpool hums, pressing the clean gauze onto my wound, taping the sides and carefully flattening the tape over my hip. "So, distracting you with inappropriate things and getting you all flustered seemed like a good solution."

I furrow my brow, looking down at the clean, neat job done on my hip.

I… I think that was Deadpool being helpful and considerate.

"I - thank you? Thank you." I say, leaning back on the couch with renewed tiredness, my head pounding.

"My pleasure, Petey. Well, not really, but still." He says, patting my thigh before standing up and wandering around before finding the nearest garbage can, tossing all the wrappers and gauze into it before opening my fridge and rummaging around for something I'm too tired to concern myself with. I slump down against the cushions, my hands cradling the bandage on my waist.

Deadpool appears in front of me, brandishing a cold water bottle to me. "Drink this." He says, and I shake my head. "I don't want any." I say, and Deadpool takes my hand and has me grasp the bottle.

"I usually say this in an entirely different context, but you should swallow."

My eyes snap up to him, my cheeks turning a shade of crimson, my ears tinged red. I'm tired, sore, my side is stinging and my head is throbbing.

There comes a point where I can't give Wade a witty retort in return, when his comments shock me too much, make my head swim.

Maybe this is why his comment makes me more uncomfortable than combative and eager to retort this time.

I was never able to be as confident out of the Spidey suit. Now, I'm tired and impatient and uncomfortable, though I know Wade is all bark, at least to me.

Come on, Peter, say something snarky. Bite back. Don't let this one phase you. He's joking.

"That - that's not -" My jaw clenches and I recoil, slamming the bottle roughly on the table right between Wade's legs, making him jump in anticipation. "Petey? Wait, kid, hey, did I -" I stand up and move to walk to my room.

"I'm - I'm jus' gonna go to bed. 'M leaving." I mumble, but as soon as I take a five steps, my head immediately rushes, seeing in tunnel-vision. I stumble before tipping forward, darkness enveloping my vision.

Strong arms catch me from behind, one arm across my chest and the other gripping my waist. Blood is rushing through my ears, but I hear Wade calling my name.

I frown, narrowing my eyes until my vision focuses again. Wade stands me up straight, loosening his hold on me, and my knees buckle on their own accord. "Fuck, Petey, you shouldn't have gotten up so fast." He breathes, grabbing my again, this time pulling me into his arms, carrying me against his chest. I can't find it in me to speak, nausea hitting me like a truck.

"It's time for you to go to bed." Wade says, carrying me into my room and setting me on the bed. I fall onto the pillow, sighing in relief. Wade kneels down beside me, and he reaches out before pulling his hand back against him again. "My head hurts." I groan, and he nods. "Yeah, I bet. Listen, Dr. Smashy says that you can only get four hours of sleep at a time. So I've gotta wake you up every now and then to make sure you haven't gone comatose, or whatever." He shrugs, and I nod.

I should be more concerned about that.

No, that sounds like a tomorrow-Peter problem.

My eyes have been shut, but I can feel Wade shifting beside me, hesitating on something.

"Peter, d'you want to wear some pajamas, or something?" He asks, and the gentleness in his voice daunts me. "My jeans aren't comfy." I murmur, rolling over onto my side and curling up. I know I'm not at my best right now, and I should focus, but the blankets are so soft, and my head is hurting so much, and -

"Peter, I need a hard yes, or no."

Ah, consent, the evasive bastard .

I think back to an hour ago, when we were at Stark's tower.

"And, recreation wise, you will not do anything to make him uncomfortable."

I remember how Wade had immediately tensed when Tony told him that, almost hurt.

"Can you take 'em off? Please?" I ask, and when Wade stays where he is, I continue. "I trust you. I know you're just an inappropriate little shit. You didn't mean to get me all uncomfortable." I slur.

"I shouldn't have said that last thing with your head all jumbled." Wade grunts, standing up and carefully, slowly, unbuttoning my pants, unzipping them and making quick work of sliding the denim off my legs and tossing them in a corner.

"You just let a mercenary strip you." Wade says blankly.

"You're not a mercenary right now, though." I say. "And, besides, it's not like you're getting a look at anything really important." I giggle, and Wade stares for a moment in shock before chuckling along with me.

"Nerd boy is a cheeky little shit. You know, I pictured you for more of a tighty-whity boy. But, the black boxer briefs are pretty damn great." He says, lifting my legs and pulling the blankets over me.

Warmth envelops me, and I sigh into the covers, curling on my side.

Sleep is taking over already, falling into a blissful nothingness. I can just make out a red and black figure leaving my room when I rouse myself enough to speak.

"Wade? 're you gonna stay?" I ask in nothing more than a rasp.

Wade pauses in the doorway.

"'Course I will, Baby Boy. If you want."

Weird answer.

I fall asleep surrounded by a mix of calm and confusion.

But, that's a tomorrow-Peter problem.

Chapter 4: Who Ya Gonna Call?

[Yellow's text box.]

{White's text box.}

"Uh, sir, Taco Bell doesn't deliver." A shaky, reedy voice tells me over the phone, like some sad, perverted, socially awkward twenty-year-old.

I sigh, slumping onto the window sill in Peter's living room, facing an array of dilapidated buildings.

It's overcast, and fog covers the windows. I use my finger to draw a dick with the condensation.

"Yes, Jack-Off, I know Taco Bell doesn't deliver. But, I'm saying that I'll personally give the lovely little fuck who gets their ass over here anyway one hundred dollars in cash as a tip."

A pause.

I draw another dick next to the first one.

{Your artistic skills are fundamentally lacking.}

[At least our own dick is better than that.]

{Yeah, 'cause we've got a super penis.}

[Think Peter has a super penis?]

Peter doesn't have a super penis - he's not a mutant or mutate. But he is 19, and teenagers are always horny. I think at the boxes.

{Oh, yeah, we're only on chapter four. You don't know.}

"I heard it might rain, though." The pre-pubescent voice says over the phone after a moment.

I blink, cocking my head. I pull my mask off up to my nose in aggravation.

"Wh - Are you - seriously? Is that what you're doing? Are you bartering with me ?" I blanch, surprised.

"It's supposed to thunderstorm, too." The voice adds.

I groan through my teeth, standing in indignation. "Fine! Fine. One hundred and fifty, but that's my final offer!" I hiss.

"Road conditions will be dangerous. I could die." The voice draws out.

I stroke the gun on my thigh desperately, taking a breath. "Two hundred dollars, but I can't assure you I won't shove it up your -"

"Oh, yeah! It wasn't gonna rain until midnight!" The sleazy voice on the phone says hurriedly, and I can practically see his proud, shit-eating grin, slapping his scrawny, khaki covered knee.

"I hate you and I love you. Be here in an hour. 410 Chelsea Street, buzz for the highest apartment number, and ask for… hm. Ask for "Daddy" when you buzz the bell." I grin. "Bye, bye! Oh! And, throw in exactly one hundred hot sauce packets."

"You won't count that shit." The guy says, incredulous.

"We'll see about that. Toodles." I grin, and hang up, tucking my phone back into one of my pouches at my waist.

"What an aggravating fucker, he was. I loved him." I say thoughtfully, stretching upward before sauntering over to check on Peter. I'd stayed at the foot of his bed, playing on the DS I found on his desk for half an hour, until I was sure he'd knocked out, and here we are now, having just ordered a nutritious meal of twenty soft-shell tacos.

I poke my head into the open door, glancing in at a sleeping Peter, shutting the door softly behind me and strolling back into the living room.

{Wait.}

[Wait.]

"Wait. What? "

I pause, walking back to his room slowly, opening the door again with one finger.

"What in the ass ?" I question desperately, my voice going up an octave as I cock a brow.

I stand in the doorway, cocking my head at how the fuck Peter is sleeping.

His torso is entirely off the bed, hanging over the side so that his back is curved. HIs arms are tucked up somewhere underneath him. His cheek is pressed into the carpeted floor, his legs on the bed, his ass propped up over the edge of the bed.

"Sweet and sour Jesus." I breathe. "You know, Petey, I almost don't want to move you." I say quietly, because, shit, you could bounce a quarter off his ass.

[He's very pretty.]

{He's got little freckles and beauty marks everywhere.}

[I wonder if they're even on -]

"Probably, but that's beside the point." I say aloud.

I step closer, putting my hands out in an attempt to fix this… situation. "Totally not trying to cop a feel right now, Petey, I promise. Hm. This is… how did you manage to even do this? Fuckin' monkey."

{Not quite a monkey.}

"Acrobats. Good shit." I hum, nodding to myself.

"Okay!' I say, clapping my hands together softly. "Let's, uh, let's just fix you up…" I crouch down wrap an arm around Peter's chest, pulling his torso off the floor so he's horizontal again, half on the bed and half held up by me, off the bed. "You sleep like a rock, huh?" I observe, maneuvering my grip so one arm is under Peter's chest, the other sliding his legs where they're supposed to be.

Finally, I drop him on his stomach onto the bed, his head on the pillow where it belongs, but he winces.

"Oh, right! Cuts on your tummy!" I roll him easily onto his back, reaching over him to grab the blankets he'd shoved aside.

I'm about to cover him, when he grabs onto me. He's still very much asleep, but the fucker has a death grip on my arm. "Oh, hey, Baby Boy, it's just me - what the shit, Parker! " I screech.

He has one hand on my wrist, the other on my bicep, and he pulls, bracing his right foot on the indent of my hip. He pushes up and toward him, and in a single second, I'm flipped onto the bed beside him, his leg over my stomach and his arm over my chest. His head is tucked somewhere near my shoulder before I can even register what happened.

I blink, eyes wide as I take a breath, turning to stare at his still sleeping face, his expression relaxed and content.

Now, see, here's the thing. I'm tall; six feet and two inches, to be exact, and I've got a pretty athletic build, like… Ryan Reynolds. So, I'm just… bigger than Peter. He's shorter than me, about 5'10", and he can't be more than 130 pounds, 145 tops. His stomach is flat and rigid, tapering to narrow hips; his lean muscles contrasting my more athletic frame. His thighs and arms are strong and lithe, like a dancer's.

I look at his serene expression, then back to the grip he has on me.

His face.

Then back at his grip.

His face again.

"Petey, what the holy fuck . Are you on steroids?" I gape at him. "You pinned me to the bed for a cuddle buddy ?" I ask, but he presses closer, burrowing his face under arm.

I open my mouth and shut it, huffing. "This is super confusing and adorable, and don't get me wrong, I love this bonding experience, it'll be a lot more gratifying if we could pick this up again when you're awake. So, I'm gonna need my arm back, and also the rest of my body. So, if you could just…" I trail off, attempting to slide Peter's leg off me.

This is worse. For many reasons.

In response to this, Peter shifts his waist so that his hips are pressed up against my waist, his leg tighter around me now, and his arms wrapped around my shoulders. His cheek is squished into my shoulder.

My eyes widen. "You're so… you're just a big clingy mess, aren't you? A very lanky mess." I state, staring down at him.

{You can't keep a lookout when you're stuck under him.}

"Okay, seriously, Baby Boy, I gotta get up -"

My phone rings.

"Peter."

"Mm." Peter rumbles, sniffing, but remaining asleep.

The ringing doesn't stop.

I slip my hand under Peter's leg to reach the pouches at my belt, grabbing my phone and dragging my arm back up. It's an unknown number.

"New York Sperm Bank; you jack it, we pack it. How may I help you on this orgasmically beautiful day?" I greet cheerily.

"Wade Wilson, I swear to god, if you are jacking anything -" The voice on the phone threatens.

Shit.

"Tony! Hello! How's my least favorite Avenger?" I ask, my tone quiet but bright.

"What are you doing right now?" Tony asks, almost hesitantly.

"I'm in bed with Peter." I say, petting the younger boy's hair and grinning when he croons, nudging against me. "Oh-em-gee. That is so fuckin' cute," I whisper.

"You're what ?" I hear at least three people shout at me through the phone.

"Relax, Tin Man! You never let me finish!" I shout. "For fuck's sake! I cleaned the kid's cuts, wrapped 'em up, and put him to bed. He's been sleeping this whole time. I came to check on him like Dr. Smashy suggested, and he grabs my arm and flips me onto the bed in his sleep . I can't get up without waking him. He's freakishly strong for a lab geek."

Tony seems to pause for a moment before answering. "But he's alright, though?"

"He's more than alright, Stark." I huff, looking down at him.

" Health wise ." He grits.

"That's absolutely what I meant." I lie. "He's fine, though, I swear. If you don't trust me, why'd you even sign me up for this mission?" I ask, frowning.

"Just making sure, is all." Tony amends, though I can hear the tension in his voice.

"Look, Tony, you're too short to be this passive aggressive. I'll cut to the chase. I checked all the windows in his place. There's several buildings surrounding Peter's that a sniper could use, so that's no good. But, there were no cameras in his place, so I'm assuming you had your people check it out before we got here. I put weapons in every room just in case ." I say quickly, quietly. "Everything's fine, Scary Spice."

I hear Bruce chuckle in the background at that. "Am I on speaker? I charge extra for each additional person, handsome." I purr.

"Shut the fuck up, Wilson." Tony sighs, and I hear a rustle on their end of the line.

"Wade?" I hear, and I gasp.

"Captain! You're my favorite, y'know? You're kind of my childhood hero…" I hum, smiling under my mask.

"Thank you, son." Steve chuckles. "And," he says more sternly, "if it's any consolation, I trust you, Wade Wilson."

The boxes are silent. "Yeah?" I breathe.

"Yes. We all do. Tony's just… Tony. Keep us updated on any changes, and we'll do the same. Bye, Wade."

"Uh, bye, sir." I say, and I've got to admit, I'm still kind of star-struck, even though I have met the man before. Silence envelopes the room again, and I look down at the sleeping boy wrapped around me. I poke his nose softly.

"You're somethin' special, Petey. Y'know why? It's because the boxes are a little more quiet around you. And my scars hurt a little less around you. And you're strong as fuck, which is weird. And you're not scared of me, even though you're a science nerd who's constantly around Tony. And, even better, you're a sarcastic little twit." I say quietly, my chin resting atop Peter's head, sighing.

"So, who wants to kill you, huh?" I ask to a sleeping Peter, wrapping an arm around him. "And when are our tacos getting here?"

{The lights fade out…}

" And , will you ever release your super-strength grip on me?"

{NOW, the lights fade out…}

Notes:

Hope you liked it! Don't forget to leave comments and kudos! :) I LOVE reading what y'all liked!

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Chapter 5: DISSONANCE PLAYLIST!

Chapter Text

I've made a music playlist for Dissonance on 8tracks!

It's a load of songs that remind me of Peter, Wade, or Spideypool relating to this story and their characters!

You can listen to it here!

Tell me what you think in the comments below!

I'll leave this update up so you folks can have a link permanently :)

The playlist starts with some songs I imagine Wade sings aloud to bother people, then it goes into angsty-hot songs, then sadder and more of Wade and Peter's inner monologue, ending it with some trippy instrumental stuff that I imagine would be their hero/anti-hero themes.

Chapter 6: Listen.

Notes:

this is sad towards the end but it's necessary for character development.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

PETER PARKER

The problem with me being injured or sick, or temporarily not in the right mind-set, is that my powers get somewhat… untrustworthy. Unreliable. My senses go even more haywire than usual and things become intolerable.

So, when I'm shocked out of my sleep by the sound of a soft snore, I jump up out of bed with every intention of clinging to the ceiling, but the heavy arm slung around my chest and the fact that I'm wrapped around another human prevents me from doing that. I open my eyes cautiously, immediately focusing on my surroundings. I'm in my own room, which is at least a little comforting. But, I'm stripped down to my underwear.

"Peter, I need a hard yes, or no."

"Can you take 'em off? Please?"

Ah, right.

I asked him to take my jeans off.

I should be more concerned. I know that.

Adjusting to my surroundings, I realize I'm warm, and calm. My spidey senses aren't going off, and I'm… content. I'm enveloped in warmth and soft breaths blow over the top of my head.

I sigh, pressing myself closer to Wade, nuzzling under his arm. His hand tightens instinctively against my side, and -

Wait.

I'm spooning. With Wade. And I'm the one all over him .

My stomach is pressed against his side, my leg wrapped over his waist, and my arms over his chest. He has an arm wrapped over me.

I'm a goddamn cuddle sleeper.

I gasp in shock, cheeks flushed, instinctively jumping off the side of the bed before I can think it through.

Wade has an arm around my stomach before I can even fall off the bed, pulling me back against him carefully.

"You sure are jumpy." Wade comments off-handedly, and I groan, sitting up against the headboard with my knees curled to my chest, my hands covering my burning cheeks.

"I - did I - was I sleeping like - like that -" I stammer, and Wade cocks his head, his arms crossed behind his head as he watches me curiously. "Yeah. You kind of just… literally flipped me onto the bed and clung to be like a little baby koala. It was cute, Petey." He says airily, before adding, "You drool in your sleep."

"Sorry." I murmur, raising a hand to my cheek warily.

"Nah; I've had worse on my suit." He says, and I narrow my eyes.

"I meant blood." He clarifies. "Not other bodily fluids." He looks up. "No, you know what, I think I have been covered in -"

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and a sharp tingle goes through my spine right before I hear the chime of my doorbell.

I bolt up and out of bed before Wade has time to tell me what the hell was on his suit.

"Petey - hey . Peter, do not answer that door." Wade calls after me, but I'm already stumbling out of bed and closer to the door, ignoring how my head pounds with every step.

I get lightheaded leaving my room and brace myself against my doorframe for a moment before pushing off and striding forward again.

Wade is close behind me. "Peter, you can't answer any doors. I'm supposed to be protecting you - Parker! " He shouts, wrapping an arm around my waist hastily but carefully, avoiding the gauze, and pulling me away from the door with surprising strength.

He pulls me back so quickly that the momentum makes my legs swing out from under me, kicking the air and arching away. "I can answer my own fucking door, Wade!"

"Not when someone wants to kill you, you can't! Peter, I'm not kidding - someone could have a gun to the peephole! I've seen it happen before! I know things. I've seen things. Let me answer the fucking doors. I don't care who it is." He says sternly.

The bell rings again.

I feel bad for Wade. He's seen more and been through more than anyone should. He cares for me; he's worried.

But, still.

How can I get away and open the door without Wade noticing my strength?

I grit my teeth, and roughly dig my backside into his stomach. He lets me go momentarily. "I can take care of the damn door!" I say, scrambling to the doorknob.

"Peter, don't you fucking dare -"

He grabs me by the waistband of my boxer briefs, but I push myself forward with a wince. "Petey, I know for a fact that's hurting you - that's what happens when people have genitals. Stop tryna' get yourself killed, and let me answer the door." He says easily.

I don't like feeling helpless. I don't like needing to be taken care of. Other people putting themselves at risk for me is not okay, even if it's his job, and even if it's Deadpool.

I take a breath and push forward with a shrill sound of pain, arching when the band snaps against the small of my back.

I unlock and pull the door open swiftly, my eyes wary as I look out. Wade steps in front of me immediately, pushing me completely behind him with a glare in my direction.

We're both breathless.

We look down. A short girl looks up at us, in a Taco Bell uniform. Her blond hair is tucked up into her cap, and she's armed with four large Taco Bell bags, plus bulging pockets. She can't be taller than 5'4".

"Oh." Wade hums, and I peer over his shoulder before ducking under his and standing in front.

She looks me up and down approvingly. I make a sound of indignation.

"Um. Hello." I say.

"Are you Daddy?" She asks.

"What?"

"Oh, no, that's me. I'm Daddy." Wade says, waving.

What the fuck.

" What? " I blanch, staring between Wade and the girl.

"Can't give the folks my real name, Petey," Wade whispers loudly to me, as if Daddy is a perfectly acceptable substitute forWade .

"But, I mean, if you wanted to call me that, I wouldn't be opposed -"

"What's going on? " I ask, taking a step back into my flat. Wade has a hand on the small of my back in support.

"It's okay, Petey. I ordered tacos, and some little twit got two-hundred dollar out of me for delivery." Wade says, a bit bitterly, staring at the short girl in front of him.

She grins. "Yeah, that was my brother. Anyway, dude, pay up." She says, holding out a hand.

Wade pulls me back by the waistband of my underwear, gentle this time, stepping back into the house. "No way, Youngest Jonas Brother." He says, shaking his head. "I'll give you the two-hundred, and you'll run away with my fucking tacos." He accuses.

"Did you just refer to me as 'Youngest Jonas Brother?'" The girl glares at Wade.

"Not the point! Here, it'll be an equal trade. I hold out the cash, and you give Pretty Boy here the tacos, and that hot sauce in your pocket." He says, pushing me into the doorway once again, a hand on my shoulder in case he needs to pull me back. I sigh, ignoring the dull thud of my head, holding out my hands to the girl.

"Dunno how pretty 'Pretty Boy' is with those scars, though." She says offhandedly to Wade, gesturing to the faint, occasional scar on my torso and the gauze on my waist.

Now, this doesn't particularly hurt my feelings much. I don't exactly care.

But, Wade. Well.

"Hey! Nothin' wrong with scars!" He hisses. I hear a shuffle behind me, when Wade lets me go, and I hear his mask peel back slightly.

The girl's eyes widen slightly.

I don't turn around to face Wade.

"Can I, uh, have the tacos?" I ask, and plaster a smile onto my face. She shoves them into my stomach and I suck in a breath as they press into my wound. Wade wordlessly reached over me to take them into his own arms. He makes an irritated noise when he sees a dot of blood on the gauze.

She then immediately stuffs her hands into her pockets to take out heaps of hot sauce packets, balancing them all precariously in the crook of my left elbow.

Then, instead of shuffling away, she sticks her hand out, past me, at Wade. "Pay up." She says. Deadpool grunts, reaching into one of his pouches. "Y'know, Smaller, Less Annoying Justin Bieber, I thought you were gonna run when I pulled up my mask. I gotta give it to you." He says, like he's almost approving.

"Your arson-victim mug isn't gonna stop me from getting my two-hundred bucks." She says.

"I'll make him give you less money if you keep being a prick." I shrug, and Wade peers at me over my shoulder, his mask covering his face again. "You'd do that?" He asks.

"People wouldn't?" I question. Who wouldn't stand up to someone being rude?

"No. People wouldn't." He breathes, almost as an afterthought.

"Yeah. Okay, so, I feel like I've interrupted a very gay, slightly BDSM moment here, so I'll just take my cash and go." The girl says, and Wade slaps the money into her outstretched hand.

"We are not into BDSM." I say, raising my brows at the girl in understanding.

"Yeah!" Wade shouts. "We don't like BDSM. You just caught us at a bad time; we were a little… tied up. "

He did not just say that .

" Wade. " I hiss. "That's - that's not true. He's a prick." I address to the girl.

A big prick." Wade says smugly.

"Have a good day, Sporty Spice." Wade says. "Tell your brother he's an asshole."

With that, the girl leaves, her middle finger pointed up at us as she strides down the hallway.

"That was… something." I sigh, stepping back into my apartment.

Wade says nothing.

"Wade?"

He sets the bag down on the small table by the door, and turns to me. He's quiet.

My spidey senses aren't acting up, but they've been wrong before...

He steps close, at least four inches taller than me, and before my eyes can even catch it, he grabs my biceps tightly, pulling me close roughly, our torsos inches apart.

I watch him warily, but my eyes stay trained to his mask determinedly.

"Wade, I -"

"There are twenty-seven possible vantage points that a sniper could hide in that are adjacent to your back window. They can kill you there - the window is right in front of the television, which is right in front of the couch, where you sit. Somebody could have bugged your apartment, and they could have known I ordered food, and they could have been at the door instead of that girl. Looking in the peephole can cost you an eye, or your skull. And, last I checked, that's how normal folks die!" Wade says, grabbing the base of my head, as if checking its strength sarcastically. He still made sure not to touch my temple.

I stare at him, eyes wide.

"When you open a door without knowing who it is, you're at risk. And when you open when you think you already know who it is, you're even more at risk, because now your guard is down." He says slowly, and I know this all already, but I find I'm drinking it in.

He puts his hands back on my biceps. "In the moment it takes you to adjust after opening a door, someone could slam their elbow here," Wade presses a finger between my shoulder blades, "or here," he moves his finger to either side of the small of my back. "Those are your kidneys. You'll drop in pain if you get kicked there."

I know.

I know, but he has a completely different way of explaining it. He explains it as if it's a duty, yet with a sort of urgency, of desperation and sternness. He tells me like he's said it a thousand times before, like he's trying to keep his own emotion out of it, but it creeps into each syllable anyway.

"Or, they could go straight for the head, and knock you out by hitting you here." His fingers ghost over my already bruised temple. "They could reach out and press their fingers into your ribs, grab, and pull. And there goes your rib cage." He says, and his fingers swipes a straight line under my sternum, prodding at the end of my ribs. "And then you wouldn't even be able to fight back, because your ribs are fractured."

I don't say anything.

"They could hit you right here," he says, his hands around my waist and his thumbs pressing into the skin of my pelvis. My abdomen clenches under the force of his touch. "Y'see? That already hurt. Imagine if someone was actually trying to incapacitate you."

I stare up at him still, my body pliant but aware, lax and trusting in his grip.

When did that happen?

"Or, if someone is particularly mad at your pretty face, they could knee you here." Wade says lowly, raising a knee with lightning speed and tucking it right between my legs, stopping right before he knees me hard in the groin. It's snug enough to make me flinch, a gasp escaping me. I swallow hard, my face hot. He lowers his knee. "That didn't hurt, right?"

I shake my head no, and he continues.

"Trust me, Peter. If this is a mutant genetic testing corporation, they will do anything and everything to elicit the most pain out of you. Pain and stamina has a direct correlation to results. You are not a human to them."

He whispers the last part, putting his finger to my chest, poking hard enough to make me rock back slightly.

He's not pressing a finger to my chest - he's putting his finger over my heart.

"Do you understand me?" He asks, and he pulls his mask up to his nose for emphasis.

I see the scars, yes. But I see the curve of his lips, the grimace he portrays, the pain he holds beyond his scars.

"You are nothing but flesh and genetic variation to them. You are your pain tolerance, and you are your stamina, you are the most sensitive part of your body, and you are how long you can last in stress positions, and you are how loud you canscream until you faint. That is what you are to them." He breathes, and his finger stills its tapping and rests over my heart.

I can almost hear it beating, trying to break out of the caverns of my ribs.

"They will try to break you. They will try to break you, and will you end up like -" His voice trails off in a bittersweet crescendo.

"And so, you have to fucking listen to me." He clears his throat.

I swallow thickly, my eyes glossy and my cheeks flushed with red.

What happened to him? He's never serious. He's never serious, he's never serious, but he cares, he cares hecareshecares -

"I - I'll listen to you. I - Wade, I - 'm sorry." My voice cracks.

This - the proximity, the breath we're sharing, his grip on me - it's far more intimate than it has any need to be.

Wade, although masked, gets distant for a moment, his focus going elsewhere, like he's listening to someone, and then he looks back to me.

I can already tell he's back to his normal, joking self.

"Thanks, Baby Boy. I don't know why they want you, but they have to have a reason. If they thought you were normal, they wouldn't be targeting you like this." He says, eyeing me up and down before releasing me.

"Let's go eat, Petey. Soggy tacos are no good. That's life advice for you."

"Huh?"

Food aside, I'm left wondering why the fuck I want to hug Wade Wilson.

Notes:

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Chapter 7: Tacos and Talks.

Notes:

Sorry for the long wait! School is a bitch.

Anyway, I think you'll like this chapter. It's pretty gay. And kinda sad. But, that's life.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

WADE WILSON

{Don't ask. I'm the smart part of your brain. Listen to me.}

[Ask. Do it.]

"Wanna play Spin the Bottle?" I ask excitedly, stacking literally dozens of wrapped tacos onto the table in front of Peter, topping it all off with a mountain of hot sauce packets.

"We can braid each other's hair - or, I can braid yours , at least. We can talk about our crushes. Or , have a sexy pillow fight. Or not sexy. Up to you." I shrug, leaning back on the couch beside him and taking three wrapped tacos into my lap.

Peter tentatively takes one, fidgeting with the wrapper between his fingers. His nose is scrunched up in confusion.

[Awe.]

"You can always start slow if you're unsure. There's no rush." I say, placing a hand on his thigh. "We don't have to do this today."

"Very funny." Peter huffs, still picking at the wrapper.

{He's probably nauseous. Concussions do that.}

"I usually start with some foreplay." I offer.

"Suck a fuck, Wade."

"How d'ya do that, Petey? Wanna show me?"

Peter glares at me, leaning back on the couch and curling his knees to his chest. He looks very small, and very much like a child.

He is a child.

{No. He's nineteen.}

Looking over at Peter again, I see that he's unwrapped his taco, and has finished about half of it in a single bite.

"When was the last time you ate, kid? You're, like, two pounds." I ask, prodding him in the ribs.

"Shut up." Peter says defensively, eating the rest of the taco and sprawling out on the couch, shoving me roughly with his feet. I grin, propping his feet on my lap so he can stretch out.

"Seriously, though. Are you eating daily?" I ask.

"Most of the time." Peter shrugs.

" Most of the time? " I splutter, and Peter bristles. "Kid, you're nineteen. And you're strong as all fuck, which is really weird but also kind of hot - so, anyway, you really need to eat more than you do."

"I guess I just forget." He shrugs.

"Well, now you have twenty tacos to remind you." I mutter.

{Now or never.}

[You have to eat, so you have to pull it up.]

I take a breath before pulling my mask up to my nose, unwrapping a taco and finishing it in three bites.

I glance at Peter, and he's watching me, but what he asks me isn't what I expected.

"Are you getting paid for this? For - protecting me?"

I furrow my brows. I was expecting him to get uncomfortable, or ask to eat in another room, or something.

But, apparently not.

"Uh. I - I don't know, Petey. I don't think so. I'm supposed to be doing things out of the goodness of my heart, or some shit like that, y'know?"

Peter seems satisfied with this answer, and he unwraps another taco, picking at the bread.

"Let's play a game." I say excitedly. "We can still braid each other's hair or have a pillow fight, but food is more important right now, so we'll do something sitting down."

"'Kay." Peter shrugs, finishing his second taco.

"What's your favorite color?" I ask.

"Gray."

"Ew. Why?"

"Because gray is neutral. It's like, almost as if gray can still turn into any color it wants." Peter says, a bit softly.

{That's the cutest fucking thing I've ever fucking heard.}

[Unbelievable.]

"Favorite band?"

"Muse, probably."

I grin, nodding along. "Nice, Baby Boy." I think of more questions, grabbing my fourth taco. "Morning person, or night owl?"

Peter hesitates. "Night owl."

"How long have you been into acrobatics?" I ask, a smirk on my lips. Peter flushes, clearing his throat. "Since I was around… sixteen. Gotta start young, ya know?" He shrugs.

I hum in acknowledgement.

"Sexual orientation?"

Peter stops chewing.

{Holy shit.}

[!]

"W-Why d'you ask?" He questions, and swallows thickly.

"It's 2016, Peter Parker. It's not a weird question. We're gettin' to know each other, right?"

Peter watches me warily for a moment.

"Unless," I start, my voice taking a dangerous tone, "you're homophobic."

[I hate him]

{Shut up.}

Peter's eyes widen, putting his hands up. "No! No, god, no. That's - no. I'm bi. Or - or something. I dunno. I never really gave a fuck about gender." He shrugs.

[I love him.]

"That makes two of us, Baby Boy." I grin, grabbing another taco.

Peter's cheeks flush pink, and his ears tinge red.

{Kiss his neck. Give him hickies, and bite his lip, and drag your hands down to his waistband and watch him moan and writhe and -}

[Don't do that - he doesn't want you anyway.]

"Close with your parents?" I ask, changing the subject.

Peter shrugs. "I wouldn't know. They're dead. I'm close with my aunt though." He says somewhat brightly, and he gets this toothy grin on his face, crumpling a taco wrapper and tossing it on the table.

{What the fuck.}

[What the fuck.]

What the fuck, why is he so cute .

"That's adorable, Baby Boy." I breathe.

Peter shrugs, and proceeds to do the biggest stretch I've ever seen. He stretches his arms up and tips his head back, his back arching and his feet digging into my side as he groans.

I blink.

[I think we're drooling.]

{Uh. I - that was - um.}

Christ on a bicycle, he's beautiful.

He pulls himself up with a wince before smiling. "Hey, uh, thanks for the tacos. 'S nice of you. I didn't realize how hungry I was." He says to me, handing me the rest of his tacos.

He stands up and faces the kitchen, probably going to get a drink, but as soon as he has one foot past me, I prop my legs up on the table, tripping him.

He gasps, scrambling as he falls onto my thighs with an oof . He winces, glaring at me from his position straddling my thighs.

[Hot. Hothothot. Look at him, straddling you in his underwear.]

{I have a better question - why hasn't he gotten up?}

"Was that necessary, Wade?" He asks, crossing his arms.

"One more question." I say, ignoring him.

[No, don't.]

"Okay." Peter hums warily, but he doesn't move.

"Why don't you care about my scars? Why aren't you disgusted, or scared and pissing yourself and crying somewhere?"

Peter looks confused.

Like, really confused. And surprised. And then, a bit sad.

"It's kind of superficial to judge someone for their scars, y'know? We should be judging the people who put them there in the first place."

I gape at him, eyes wide, disbelieving.

[...]

{...}

Clearly he doesn't register how much he fucking blew my mind, because he continues, "Besides, they're just scars. I can still tell what you look like - at least, the bottom of your nose, lips, and chin, since you won't take the mask off all the way. It's not like you grew a new face, or something."

"Really?" I ask. I think I whisper it. I'm not sure.

"Well, yeah." Peter smiles just a little bit.

"Baby Boy, you're pretty enough for the both of us." I say frankly, and he huffs out a laugh.

"Okay, Wade." He brushes it off, but his cheeks are rosy.

He stares at me for a moment, and I stare back, holding back the urge to just pull him closer.

After a moment, Peter stands, carefully climbs over my legs, and grabs two water bottles from the kitchen, dropping one in my lap before striding to his bedroom.

"I'm gonna sleep s'more." He mumbles tiredly, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

"I have to wake you in a few hours again, though." I warn, and he nods.

As he's about to close the door, he stops, standing halfway out of the doorway. "I have a question for you ." He says.

"Shoot, Petey."

"Does it hurt?" He asks, quieter.

I swallow thickly, furrowing my brows.

{No shit, it hurts. You spend all your money on pain meds and ammo.}

[Nobody's ever asked you that. They don't care enough.]

"Yeah. Yeah, it does. They, uhm." I plan my thoughts out, taking a breath. Peter steps closer, leaning against his now shut door in interest. "The scars are constantly shifting, because my skin is constantly healing and re-healing itself to combat the cancer, thanks to my healing factor. So, it always fuckin' hurts like a bitch." I mutter.

"Oh." Peter breathes, and he actually looks like he cares .

{He cares?}

[I - I think so? Stay tuned, readers.]

"That sucks. Thank you for, y'know, telling me." Peter says softly, and he returns to his bedroom, the door ajar.

And that was that. He didn't apologize for my situation, he didn't say he felt bad for me, there was no pity in his eyes, like some of the other dickheads..

He just agreed that it sucked. That it wasn't fair and it was horrible, and it sucked .

"You're a good one, Baby Boy." I mouth, but he can't hear me.

I'm about to unglue myself from the couch and call Tony before he has an aneurysm, but something happens.

Peter sticks an arm out of the door, and tosses a small bottle high in the air, landing perfectly on my lap. He didn't even look.

I pick up the bottle.

Extra-strength Tylenol, it reads.

The kid tossed me pain meds.

I chuckle, popping the cap off.

"I love you, Petey Boy. Soooo much!" I yell in a sing-song voice.

"Shut up, Wade."

Notes:

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Chapter 8: Arms.

Notes:

HOOO BOY!

you guys will hate me at first, but then you'll probably love me.

warning: there's some graphic depictions of torture/molestation IN A DREAM, but this is Deadpool so idk what you expect.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

PETER PARKER

DREAM

Scalding water sloshes against my face as I cry out, spitting boiling water out of my mouth as I shrink away from the steam desperately.

My body collapses, laying pliant against my restraints, the only things keeping me upright.

"Time how long it takes him to develop blisters, and then time how long it takes for them to heal again." Intones a cold, crisp voice from somewhere to my left.

"Yes, sir." Responds a meek voice.

I'm tied to a vertical metal slab, buckled restraints on my spread arms, legs, and stomach. I'm stripped naked, except for my underwear. There are surely bags under my eyes, and bruises and burns and cuts peppering my body. I can't be sure how long I've been here. A single electrode is attached to the skin on my left pectoral, over my heart, and a monitor keeping track of my steady heart rate sits beside a table near the meek-voiced man.

"Peter Parker," the first voice begins. "Or, Spider-Man, that is." He says, and chuckles to himself.

I groan, eyes half-lidded and head ducked, in whatever drug-riddled haze they put me in. Hot water drips from my hair, now horribly overgrown, hanging over my forehead in messy curls.

"I have to tell you, Peter, I'm quite thrilled to have you here. What phenomenal abilities, you must contain. We already know that you can stick to nearly any surface, you have increased speed, sight, agility, flexibility, even healing. And that's just what we know already! Can you imagine what you're hiding?" The man laughs, almost crazed.

I don't respond, breathing heavily.

Don't respond - if you respond, he wins. Don't speak, don't entertain him.

"I wonder, though," he hums, turning to me. He is unfamiliar, bland, a forgettable face with nothing particularly eye-catching about him. "How much you can take? "

My eyes widen and I fervently test my restraints. The effort is incredible, though, and I'm immediately tired.

The man takes slow steps towards me, and my breaths become rapid. He smiles.

"How old are you, Peter Parker?" He asks, and I bit my tongue.

"I'm curious. Perhaps your powers will strengthen with age - you're already very impressive, and you appear young." He says quietly.

And then, he's right in front of me, a finger at my collar bone, dragging slowly down my stomach. I make a shrill sound, clenching my fists and pulling at the restraints.

His finger stops at my navel, and I look up at him, eyes wide. I hold my breath, and he holds my gaze.

Don't, don't, don't, don't, don'tdon'tdon'tdon't -

He slips his fingers into my waistband, his knuckles pressed against my pelvis, and my head snaps up, a desperate, feral snarl escaping me.

"Don't! Don't fucking touch me! Don't touch me!" I scream at him, eyes livid, my restraints creaking against my sudden force. Adrenaline and fear wakes me up, my heart rate skyrocketing.

The man's eyes light up.

He dips his fingers lower and I squeeze my eyes shut, a broken sound escaping me as I strain against my restraints.

Too close, too close, too close, he's too close tooclosetooclosetooclose, oh god -

With one last sweep of his finger against the soft trail of hair on my pelvis, he removes his hand, clasping them behind his back. He looks excited, his eyes bright and mouth upturned in an amused smirk.

The heart monitor beeps rapidly.

"Take note," he says, addressing the other man in the room, "that Peter has a strong, negative reaction towards unwanted intimate contact. Mention that this has increased his adrenaline." The man says, turning away from me.

I bite back a frustrated scream. "Nobody likes unwanted intimate contact, you disgusting piece of shit. You - you're, like, a poacher, for mutants and mutates, you know that?" I yell at him, bucking against the restraints again.

"That's rude, Peter." He says, tipping my chin up with his fingers.

I bite down with all my force, and he screams, pulling away.

He doubles over, holding his thumb with his other hand, tight-lipped curses streaming from his mouth.

When he stands, he's a bloody mess.

And, oh, he is furious.

"Bad mutate!" He shouts, tearing off a corner of his white coat and wrapping it around his thumb haphazardly.

He lands a sharp blow to my pelvis with a strong fist, and the breath rushes out of me, curling in on myself as much as possible.

He punches me again, swinging at my left cheek. The force of it knocks my head to the side, and I spit blood onto the sterile, white floor.

The stark contrast in color makes my head rush.

I don't even anticipate it when the man kicks me hard in the groin. Heat rushed to my face immediately, and I fight to suck in another breath, a low groan escaping me.

The man turns away suddenly, opening something dark rested on a metal table, near the meek man.

He turns back to me with two thin metal rods, a bit under six inches each, including a handle. They're red hot, clear smoke rising off of them.

I stare at them with double vision, my mind reeling on what they could be used for.

He moves in dangerously close, grinning at me, a dark glint in his icy eyes.

Within a single second, one rod is pressed against the inside of my thigh, and the other is against my abdomen.

The pain is like nothing I've ever felt before.

My vision flashes hot white, and I scream, my throat raw as steam rose off my body.

" Please, please, please, please - take it off! Take it off!" I cry, my face red as I shake under the rods.

The heart monitor beeps incessantly.

He removes the rods, placing them back on the table.

There are blistering brand marks on me. A tear that trickled down my chin and onto my stomach sizzles when it comes in contact with the brand mark.

He runs his fingers along the waistband of my underwear once more, but I just whine, gritting my teeth.

"Perhaps you'll be more compliant next time, hm?" He asks, and he doesn't remove his hands.

In fact, he -

AWAKE

I'm screaming.

I feel suffocated, like I can't breathe, like I can't move, and there are hands on me, covering me, grabbing at me andtouching me, and everything is too hot, toohottoohottoohot.

I cry out louder, damp hair sticking to my forehead, kicking the sheets and trying to untangle myself, thrashing and sobbing in the dark, until my bedroom door is kicked open.

And I know I'm home - I think. Yes, I'm home. But the hands are still on me, and touching me , and everything is burning and I can't breathe.

Wade storms into the room, his mask completely off, although only his silhouette is recognizable in the dark.

I cry hysterically, arching my hips in my bed to get the hands off of me , to get away from my dream, because it feels so real. I shudder, scratching at my arms, and my stomach, and my thighs, and at the waistband of my underwear, just crying, pleading for anything .

"Oh, Petey, no." I hear, barely a whisper.

"Get 'em off, get 'em off, oh, god - I - I can't breathe," I sob, bolting upright in bed, and Wade walks calmly but hurriedly to my bed, his hands out in a soothing gesture.

He sits behind me, against the headboard. He pulls me against him, until I'm sitting in the V of his legs.

And I'm not scared of him. I'm not. But, the man in the white coat. I need his hands off me, I need them gone , I don't want him touching me andburning me anymore.

I shudder, a choked sob escaping me as I cover my crotch with my hands. "No more. Enough, it's enough. " I gag, scraping invisible dream-induced hands off me.

"Peter, hey - oh, god, hey, kid. You're okay. You're fine. Nobody is touching you - nobody will do that to you."

He ignores my thrashing, because I think he knows it's still about my dream, and he crosses my arms over my chest, and then wraps his arms over mine, bracketing my body with his legs.

"You're going to hurt yourself, Peter, stop. Please stop, you're too fucking strong, you're going to end up really doing some damage." Wade is shushing me, quiet and stern and reassuring.

I know I'm still crying, still mumbling about something, because Wade is whispering besides me, "It's me. You were dreaming. You had a night terror, and then you had a panic attack, Peter. You're fine. It was a dream, a very bad fucking dream. I'm not going to hurt you, nobody is going to hurt you."

Eventually, I stop thrashing and lay pliant against him, my screams now broken sobs and hiccups.

I didn't realize it when I had been crying, but he's been shushing me this whole time, very slightly rocking softly with me. He tucks wayward hair off my forehead, moving his hand back over my chest.

I'm hiccuping softly, my face blotchy and pink from crying. I don't have it in me to be embarrassed. I don't think Wade cares.

"You're okay, Petey." Wade mumbles.

"I'm okay." I repeat, voice hoarse.

"Yeah." I can feel him nod, his chin atop my head.

He presses his hand flat over my chest for a moment, before humming. "You're still freaked out a little, huh?" He asks, and I'm assuming he can feel my heart rate.

"Sorry."

"No, hey, no, it's fine, Peter. I don't blame you. That sounded rough. I - you were scratching at yourself and covering your junk, and I know what you were dreaming of, I think. So, I - I need you to know that nothing will happen to you, okay?" He tells me, and he looks right at me.

He looks right at me.

"You have such blue eyes." I breathe, astonished, smiling up at him with tear-streaked cheeks.

His eyes widen - I don't think he remembered he didn't have his mask on. He removes his hands to attempt to cover his face, but then thinks better of it, wrapping his arms around me again.

"Yeah, Baby Boy. But you don't wanna see this ugly mug, so -"

"I like your mug," I murmur. Because, really, I can still tell what his face looks like through the scars, and I like his mug .

"Well, ain't that some weird shit." Wade huffs out, astonished himself, and I give a breathless laugh.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"A little past three in the morning. I woke you up a few times like Dr. Smashy said, but you went right back to sleep again each time."

"I'm sorry for waking you." I say, ducking my head.

"I - it's fine, Petey. Don't worry 'bout it."

My hands are still shaking slightly, and I'm dreading what I'll have to do next - go to sleep.

A heavy silence passes as I think about this, and suddenly Wade's hand is over my chest again. "Peter? Hey, you okay? Need some mouth-to-mouth, or something. That was a joke - I wouldn't actually do that, especially after that dream -"

"Can you stay here? I - I'm scared." I croak the last bit, barely speaking it at all.

Wade stays silent for a moment before readjusting his grip on me. "Yeah, of course. There's nothin' wrong with being scared sometimes." He says, and he swiftly pulls the blankets up over us.

"Lot's of people don't realize this, but you can be scared and brave at the same time. They don't cancel each other out." He tells me quietly.

"Goodnight, Wade." I say, turning on my side and burrowing somewhere near Wade's arm, still wrapped around me.

"Night, Petey Boy. And, don't worry, I put the tacos in the fridge."

I smile at him.

I don't have any dreams when I fall asleep, although I do feel considerably warmer, and safer.

But, that's another tomorrow-Peter problem.

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Chapter 9: Up and At 'Em.

Notes:

hello. there is angst in this chapter. you're welcome.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

WADE WILSON

{Wake up, asshole.}

[Seriously, wake up. There's a problem.]

{Either you really have to pee, or you've got a hard on.}

[Maybe both.]

{Yeah, and Peter's still laying on your chest. Between your legs.}

My eyes snap open, staying very still to assess the situation.

Liars! I don't have a hard on , I think to the boxes.

{But you thought you did.}

[You liiikkkkeeeee him.]

"Ah, shaddup," I grunt, and I roll Peter off of me carefully, laying him back on the bed. I sit up and turn to him, and my eyes focus in on something.

"Ah, kid. Uncle Stark and the Patriotic Geriatric are gonna piss themselves if they see that." I mutter.

He has raised scratch marks on his torso and thighs, from when he was clawing at his body after his nightmare. When I remember where he was actually trying to get the hands off of him, I groan.

"Damn. Damn, damn. Damn. Did you scratch yourself anywhere else I should be worried about, kid?"

[Strip him!]

{Mhm.}

"No, no. That's not cool. I have to wake him up anyway, like the good Doc said. I shrug, tossing a blanket over him and putting his leg back onto the bed.

"Petey?" I ask.

He makes a soft sound, but nothing else.

"That's adorable. Hey, kid, wake up." I say, a bit louder, drawing my hands to my chest as I peer closer at him.

He groans, arching his back.

I raise a brow.

[Let's see what happens next.]

"Right. Well. As much as that is heavenly to watch, I feel like a pervert."

I shake his shoulders suddenly, and he kicks me square in the chest, bolting upright, eyes wide.

I stagger back, holding my stomach. "Ow!" I whine, throwing a pillow at him that he dodges. "Kid, seriously, what the fuckare you on? Some new miracle steroid?" I ask, grabbing his leg and inspecting his calf for muscle.

Peter stares up at me indignantly, snatching his foot back with a muddled expression. "You just scared me, is all." He shrugs, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

Cute.

" Anyway , I just needed to wake you up for a bit, like the Doc said. Also, before you get freaked out later, you have scratch marks on you, from last night. And as much as I wish they were from passionate sex, they were from your nightmare."

Peter shoots me a confused glare before looking down at himself, examining his chest, his arm, his thighs, and very, veryhesitantly peeking into the waistband of his underwear.

He breathes a sigh of relief. "There's, uh - all good. Everything's good." Peter stammers.

[He's so shy.]

{Fuck us.}

"Glad to hear it, Baby Boy." I ruffle his hair, and he leans into it slightly.

Oh. Good to know.

"D'ya like that, Petey?" I hum, and Peter, I swear to fuck , mewls.

"You're needy when you're tired, d'ya know that?" In response, Peter just presses his head into my hand.

"I have a concussion. I'm allowed."

"I'm a mercenary. I could snap your pretty little neck."

Wit one last hum of appreciation at the head rub, Peter grabs my arm and twists his body, flipping me onto the bed. He has a knee pressed to my chest before I can even fight back.

[What the fuck.]

{How the fuck.}

"I call bullshit, Wade. You wouldn't have taken this job if you wanted to keep killing." Peter says, staring down at me.

"Acrobatics, my ass!" I grunt. "Captain Grandpa is definitely teaching you how to fight at that internship of yours!" I put my feet on his hips and flip him over me. He lands on the ground with a soft oof , with myself crouched on top of him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't know how to fight." Peter huffs indignantly, crossing his arms and staring up at me.

"Yeah, right, and I can't shoot a gun -" I start, but Peter puts his hands on my shoulders and slips out from under me, pulling my ankles out and flipping me. He's sitting criss-cross on my stomach, grinning.

"You're having fun with this, aren't you?" I ask, and Peter laughs. "How about you scoot your ass a little lower, huh?" I ask, a brow raised, and Peter flushes, glaring at me. Quickly, I hook my hands under his crossed knees, slipping out from under him. I'm about to press him into the floor, but he wraps his legs round my waist before his back can make contact with the ground, staring up at me with wide eyes, my arms still on his legs.

"Still having fun?" I ask, a bit breathless.

"I - yeah."

{Why aren't you moving?}

[Why isn't he moving?]

Peter's phone rings suddenly, blaring through the silence of the room. Peter yelps, scrambling over me and tumbling off my back, sprinting to the living room and grabbing his phone.

"You know, you could've just got your phone like a normal person, instead of climbing over me -"

"Y-yes, Mr. Jameson. I know it's nine o'clock - Yes, I know I was supposed to be there an hour ago…" Peter cringes, phone pressed to his ear and scrubbing a hand over his neck.

He looks instantly uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'll be there as soon as possible -" There was a particularly loud shout over the phone, and Peter jumps. "That - that won't be necessary, sir, I'll be over soon." Peter says, and then sets his phone back down.

Immediately, Peter is running around his apartment. "I have to go to work." He manages to tell me, ruffling through his drawers. He pulls out light torn jeans, slipping them over his lean frame and tugging them up haphazardly, wincing before buttoning the fly.

"Uh, no." I say. "What's your actual job?" I ask, grabbing his arm to halt him. Peter sighs, turning to me. "I'm a photographer for The Daily Bugle," he tells me, gesturing around his room at the dozens of polaroid photos taped to the walls.

I actually take the time to look at them now, and freeze. "Kid."

"Yes?"

"How the holy fuck do you get Spidey to pose for you?"

Peter stills, stammering for a moment before answering. "I just - I know him. He lets me take pictures of him for my boss. He's a cool dude." Peter shrugs.

"Yeah, I know he's a cool dude. And, hello, his ass is gorgeous. You could bounce a quarter off that. His ass might rival yours, Petey Boy." I hum.

Peter looks equally frustrated and flustered, his cheeks hot.

{Interesting.}

[Is Wade ever going to catch on?]

He tugs his arm away to rummage through his drawers again for a shirt, pulling out a worn black thermal with thumb holes cut into them. He slips the shirt on over his head and runs a hand through his wild hair, darting around me hastily.

"This job stresses you out, huh?"

"What? No - how can you tell?" Peter asks, grabbing his camera off his nightstand and tossing it over his head, hanging on his neck.

"Kid, I'm mildly worried you're going to have an aneurysm. I think you're a little stressed. Your boss sounds like a prick." I say, eyeing one of the photographs of Spider-Man on his wall, giving a thumbs-up to the camera.

"Yeah, well, I like photography, and I like bio-medical science, so I do both." Peter shrugs, sliding under his bed and grabbing a pair of tattered vans, slipping them on and hooking his backpack over his shoulder.

He grabs his square black glasses and tucks them up his nose, making his way to the door.

"You look like a pretentious art major, did you know that?" I ask. "It's adorable. "

"If by pretentious art major you mean broke college student , then, yes, I know." Peter says, unlocking the door.

[No, no.]

"Whoa, Baby Boy." I say, grabbing his shirt and pulling him back. "You can't go on your own."

Peter looks at me indignantly. "It's just The Bugle, Wade. I have to go. It's my job."

"If people were willing to get you in Tony Stark's Tower, then what makes you think they wouldn't try and hurt you in some little publications office?" I ask, staring at him sternly.

For the first time today, I remember I don't have my mask on.

{Holy shit! Peter was wrestling with you, inches away from your bare face, and he didn't care?}

Peter stares at me with hard whiskey eyes before whining in resolve. "Fine. Then you'll have to come with me."

I grin. "Road trip with Baby Boy." I grab my mask off the couch and pull it over my head.

He slips out the door with me close behind him.

"And don't you dare yell at my boss if he's an ass to me." Peter warns.

"No promises."

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Chapter 10: Stick.

Notes:

mmmMMM this is one my favorite chapters i've ever written. you're gonna fucking love this chapter.

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Chapter Text

PETER PARKER

We had to go back to my apartment halfway to work, because I took one look at Deadpool and remembered he was in full mercenary gear, guns and all.

Now, Wade is skipping along in one of my red hoodies that's just a bit too tight on him, and sweatpants that somehow managed to be long enough on him. His hood is up.

"This is going to be so much fun! It's like Bring Your Mercenary To Work Day!"

I cringe, whipping around to face Wade, cornering him against the wall, outside The Daily Bugle's building in a relatively secluded area. "Wade, seriously, Jameson is… difficult. He isn't a fan of mutants or mutates, or anyone affiliated with them. So, he already gives me a hard time as it is. He's not going to like you or me much today, so you can't piss him off, even if he screams at me or throws shit." I say hastily.

Wade looks off to the distance for a moment before returning his gaze to me. "Does he normally scream and throw shit at you?" He asks, clipped.

He's not happy.

"Yeah. But, I mean, it's fine."

Deadpool hums in acknowledgement. He glances to either side of him casually before grabbing my waist and flipping us, so I'm against the wall. The breath rushes out of me but I watch him, eyes wide and pupils blown.

Fuck.

Dilated pupils? Indicative of an involuntary physical reaction to attraction.

Double fuck.

Before I even have time to think, Wade leans in close, grabbing my chin so that I look up at him. I hold his stare.

When I look off to the side out of irritation, he puts a hand in my hair and tugs my head up. Not so rough that it hurts, exactly, but it gets my attention.

He pulls his mask up to his nose.

Is it hot outside? It's hot outside. It's so hot. Very hot.

I swallow thickly.

"People are not supposed to be aggressive with you to the point that you fear going to work. I know damn well you can defend yourself, Petey Pie, but for some dumb human reason, you're not. So I will. And you'll shut up about it." He says lowly.

"I - uhm, okay." I mumble.

The distance between us is far more intimate than it has to be. Breaths are shared, heat is shared.

Deadpool watches me. After a moment of thought, he grins.

He leans in even closer, slowly, giving me time to pull away.

My breath falters.

"This okay?" Wade murmurs, cocking his head.

I nod before I can even comprehend why.

"Is that a yes?" He persists, pausing completely.

"Yes." I breathe. "'S okay…"

Wade is a mercenary. But this is… safe.

He presses his body closer still. Our hips brush and warmth pools in my stomach.

He hums in interest, sweatpants brushing against the front of my jeans only slightly, very slightly, until I press myself forward, and he croons at me.

His eyes glance down my frame before looking back up at me. A smile curls on his lips and he brings his face close, his lips ghost my ear.

"Well, this isn't leaving much room for Jesus, now, is it?" He purrs, and my eyes snap open.

What.

What?

"What." I deadpan, and he pulls away.

"You so want me." Wade says smugly, pulling away entirely, slipping a finger through my belt loop and pulling me inside the building.

I follow after him, slightly dazed.

"I - I don't - shut up, Wade." I stammer, and Wade fucking giggles.

I push past him to put in the code for the door, tugging at the front of my pants in discomfort.

I feel more than see Wade peering over my shoulder.

"Have a problem there, Baby Boy?" Wade hums, his voice low, and sweet, and dark, and -

Yeah.

"No." I bite.

Way to avoid the obvious, Peter. You'll have to admit it eventually.

Cheeks flushed, I punch in the code and shove the door open.

I'm immediately stressed again.

All around me, people are darting about the office, papers flying, printers whirring, the smell of ink pungent in the air. Phones are ringing and the chatter of dozens of people speaking in tandem fill my ears.

I sigh.

"Yikes." Deadpool mutters. "What kind of shit show is this, Petey?"

"This is my life." I grunt, tugging him along to my corner desk, when my mild peace is interrupted.

"Parker!" I hear, angry and sharp. I jump, gripping the strap of my backpack tighter, clenching my fists. Wade stays behind me, but he stands taller, more imposing than normal.

"Hello, sir, I'm sorry -"

"You show up over an hour late, and you bring a friend?" Jameson scolds me, peering closer at Wade.

"He looks like a mugger with that hood on." Jameson sneers.

"He has a hangover." I shrug.

"Right," Jameson says snidely, condescending. "He probably has something to do with that internship of yours. One of themutants." He spits, and my lungs are burning to scream.

"Oh, you're right, sir! I am affiliated with The Avengers. I'm their personal escort. Peter is certainly a pleasure." Wade purrs, slinging an arm over my shoulder and putting his hand over my chest suggestively.

My eyes widen, unhooking his hand. "No - uh, no. That's - no. He's a… bodyguard for Stark.

At this, Jameson looks even more irritated. "I don't care what the hell it is that you mutant types and mutant enablers do in your spare time. Here, in my building, you two act human. Got that?" Jameson asks me, leaning in too close for my liking.

You could punch him right now. He'd pass out cold. You could web him to the wall, hang him over a building and watch him pee his pants. You could -

"Yessir." I mumble.

Jameson give me a once-over before turning around and walking back to his office.

"And, Peter, you better have something for me on that Spider-Man of yours. I expect a written piece to accompany a picture." He calls to me over his shoulder, and then, he's gone, behind the doors of his office.

I whine, turning around and trudging over to my small, cluttered corner desk, dragging my feet until Deadpool puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me.

"We can go back to your place, y'know? 'Cause I'm tempted to hurt your boss." Wade says, watching me warily.

"Nah, I'm used to it. Plus, I need the money." I shrug, and Wade looks bothered by this, but drops it.

For several, several hours, they day goes by without confrontation. Wade sits right beside me at my desk, swinging his feet like a child and tossing a wadded-up ball of paper in the air to keep entertained. I write about a picture I took of myself, a selfie, in which I'm in full costume beside four bank robbers, tied together with webs, on the steps of the NYPD. Wade commented several dozen times how the spandex suit did wonders for Spider-Man's ass, and how surely the Webbed Wonder is incredibly flexible. I ignored him for my own sake.

Things continue on like that until it's nearly time for us to go home.

"Parker! Get me a coffee. Down the hall." Jameson shouts at me from his office, and I sigh, standing up. Wade is about to follow me down the corridor, but I wave him off. "'S just down the hall, don't worry."

This seems to work, because Wade sits back down, blowing me a kiss. "I'll miss you," He coos, making a heart with his hands. I huff out a laugh before sprinting away to get his coffee.

At the machine, I chew my lip. What the hell had I gotten myself into? And when had I gotten myself into it? It should be easy to hate Wade, to be afraid of Wade. Everyone does it.

For past reasons, people don't like him. Except me, I guess. I like him just fine. I like him more than fine. "Oh, god," I groan. Why does he have to be so good? And nice, and understanding? Why does he have to have the potential to kill someone with a single finger, but talk people through panic attacks and always ask before touching someone? And why does he have to think he looks so hideous, when he doesn't? Or, at least, I don't think he does. Why does he have to be so goddamn decent?

But, fear not, because I'm an expert at putting off my feelings.

I pull my hand away with a jolt before the coffee overflows and I burn myself, capping the lid and walking back to the office.

When I get back, Wade is drawing crude pictures on the whiteboard in red marker, humming the Thong Song under his breath.

Jameson is watching his pictures with a disgusted sneer, holding his hand out expectedly when he sees the coffee cup. I collapse back into my desk chair, swiveling slightly as Jameson takes a sip.

Instantly, his face contorts, spitting the contents of the coffee out, his mustache dripping.

My eyes snap up to him in caution, and Deadpool's head whips around but remains where he is, watching intently.

"This is black! I wanted milk and sugar!" He says, infuriated.

Are you fucking kidding me?

"You didn't specify what you wanted, so -" I start, but then, he uncaps the lid with fury, dumping the cup's contents ontome. Searing, steaming, boiling coffee is splashed onto my lap.

The pain is white hot, my ears ringing. I cry out sharply, a shrill sound escaping me as I jump out of my chair, hands shaking as I tug my jeans away from my front desperately.

Within a second, Deadpool is right in front of Jameson, wrapping his tie twice tightly around his neck and shoving him into the nearest wall, grabbing a stapler from by desk and pinning his tie to the wall.

"Ah, hell," I gasp, gritting my teeth and urging the searing pain to stop.

"You do that to him again, and your tie won't be the thing I staple to the wall."

I'm so fucked. I'm fired.

I'm in so much pain I don't care as much as I should. I'm clenching my jaw, my hands fisted in my jeans as I double over.

Deadpool grabs my backpack and hefts me over his shoulder, sprinting to the bathroom and setting me on the sink before I can even comprehend what's happening.

"Oh my god." I whine.

"I know, Baby Boy." Wade soothes, not looking at me as he turns on the cold water faucet as much as it can go, wadding up paper towels and wetting them.

"Oh my god." I breathe, squeezing my eyes shut.

"I know." Wade repeats, and he dumps a handful of freezing water onto my lap.

I yelp at first, but gasp at the relief.

Have I ever been burnt like this before? I know I'll heal soon enough, but, shit.

He hands me a giant wad of freezing, wet paper towels. "Shove those down your pants before you start blistering. Make sure they're on your thighs, too." Wade urges, and I do what he tells me.

Moments later, Wade is still standing in front of me, his hands on either side of the counter where I sit, seething silently with his head bowed as I wait for the searing pain to stop.

"You didn't have to staple him to the wall." I mutter.

"He didn't have to toss boiling coffee on you."

"I'm sure it wasn't completely boiling." I try, shrugging.

Wade looks up at me then with doubt, and I meet his gaze.

After a moment, we both laugh.

And we laugh.

And laugh. We laugh loud, and happy.

We laugh so hard that tears spring to my eyes, and my lap stops stinging so much, and Wade looks looser, calmer.

We sober after what feels like hours, giggling as I take away the paper towels, tossing them in the trash.

"Wade?" I ask finally.

"Hm?"

"Can you get me my other pair of clothes? They're in my desk drawer. I wanna go home now." I tell him, and Wade nods, patting my knee, where I didn't get burnt.

"'Course, Baby Boy. Hang tight." He says.

I only have a few seconds before he's returning, handing me dark skinny jeans and boxer briefs.

I hope off the counter easily and slide my jeans off with a hiss. Wade ducks his head when I peel off my underwear, and I mutter my thanks, cheeks hot.

"You burnt? Any redness? Blisters?" He asks.

Thank god.

"No blisters. Kinda red. Like when your skin gets kinds blotchy after you get burnt. 'S nothing too bad." I say.

"Good, good. How's your ass?" He asks, and I furrow my brow.

"The same as always, Wade." I say flatly.

"Wonderful." He grins, and I swat at him halfheartedly.

I dry off with my old pants and put on new red boxer briefs, slipping on my jeans and nudging Wade to let him know he can look.

"Great, Petey, let's go." He says, sticking out an elbow. I stare at him for a moment before giving up, looping my arm with his.

He nudges against me and I smile despite myself.

It hurts a bit to walk, I wince as my legs rub together, but it's not intolerable.

As we pass the office again, Deadpool peaks his head in to see a very disgruntled, red-faced Jameson, and several employees around him, mumbling. "If any of you lovely creatures unhook him from the wall, I will go after each and every one of you." Deadpool says airily, and then we leave.

We head in the direction of the nearest train station, walking so close that our shoulders bump softly every few steps.

After two minutes of walking in silence, I speak. "Why do people think you're a killer with no compunction?"

"Because I've killed without compunction." Wade says, and I roll my eyes.

I knew that much from being Spider-Man.

"But, you're not - you're not a sociopath. You have empathy, and emotion, and you're compassionate. It's just that you don't -"

"I don't have it for killers." He finishes my thought. "Yeah, Peter. But nobody really cares to think about that."

I nod, humming in thought.

He stops, then, grabbing my arm lightly and turning me to face him. "Peter, are you scared of me?" He asks.

"No." I say without thought.

"I've killed people. I've killed masses of people. And the people I've killed, I would kill them all again." He says, staring hard at me.

I swallow thickly, leaning closer.

"Were they murderers?"

"Yes." He answers.

"Were they torturers?"

"Yes." He says again.

"Were they rapists?"

"Yes, some of them." He nods.

"Were they horrible people with horrible plans? Would letting them live mean they would return to their old ways?"

"Yes," He says, "that's how it always is."

I pull his hood off, so that his eyes are no longer dipped in shadow.

Wide, blue eyes watch me.

"Well, then I'm still not scared of you."

The breath leaves Wade.

"Peter, you don't know -"

"You've killed hundreds of people, yes, I know. But, I think anyone who has lived your life would kill those people, too. Killing people is by no means good, but the people who call you a mindless killer, well, they just don't have your mind."

Wade is looking at me like I just discovered gravity.

"There is scum on this earth. You have experienced some of the worst of them. Some people shove these scum in jail and consider the problem solved, and some people just kill them. I don't believe in killing, but that doesn't mean their actions don't justify their death."

Wade is silent, disbelieving.

"The point is, I can't blame you for killing horrible people. I think that if everyone experienced all that you have, they wouldn't call you a mindless killer, either."

"I could never kill. I don't have it in me. I just think people are scared of you because you're able to do what others aren't, to people who deserve it." I say.

"You don't scare me, Wade Wilson." I finish.

He says nothing.

And then, he lets out a breath. And with that breath, his frame relaxes, his eyes close, his head tips up in relief, in joy, in something ephemeral yet ethereal.

Fleeting and lovely, and hurt.

I'm kissing him before I even fully realize.

Eyes wide, I move away. He watches me with bright blue eyes, lips parted in surprise. "S-sorry, I just - I dunno why -"

And then, he has a hand at the base of my head, pulling me close again and kissing me this time. We pull away only slightly, heads ducked and noses brushing. "Okay?" He breathes, and I nod. As if upon a mutual understanding, our lips crash together again in keening need.

It goes on in a way that neither of us clearly initiated, and I sigh into the kiss with my hands fisted in Wade's shirt, one hand cupping my jaw, keeping me close. It's almost as if he's hesitant to touch me, because his hand falters, but then it's gentle on the small of my back.

Wade tastes sweet, like Red Vines.

Safe tastes carbonated, like fizz on soda.

I pull away after several moments, lips red and cheeks flushed. Wade's thumb moves in smooth arches over my jaw, something soft in his eyes.

"We should go home, now. 'S getting late."

"Yeah," Wade agrees quietly. "Does this mean I get to talk about your ass more now?" He asks, and I stifle a laugh.

"Shut up."

"M'kay." Wade says, slinging an arm around my shoulder. "You know, that didn't leave any room for Jesus."

I do laugh, now, tipping my head up.

Notes:

I hope you liked that! TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT! DON'T FORGET TO LEAVE COMMENTS/QUESTIONS/KUDOS!

Now, to business, I've been getting a lot of comments asking in rude ways about when I'll update each chapter and how they want me to hurry and how they're disappointed each time they check on my story and see that it hasn't been updated. And this isn't all of you, only a select 5-10 people. While I am delighted to see that so many people love my story, I urge you all to remember that 1) I have a life including school work and family issues, 2) Plot-heavy, interesting chapters take TIME, 3) it's not like I'm intentionally hiding my chapters from you - they're done when I think they're good enough, 4) if you look back, it's never taken me over four weeks to update, and that's a stretch, which is pretty damn decent, and 5) while it would be interesting, my body is unfortunately unable to produce finished chapters out of my ass. Bummer, I know.  
I'm very thrilled that you like my story - I like sharing it with you. Spidey and DP have shaped my childhood and life so much.  
I love writing and sharing this world with y'all, and I love all your happy comments, but please just ask yourself if you're being a prick or impatient before you comment. Thank you.

\- Leo

Chapter 11: Even Stickier.

Notes:

:)))) things are happening...

also, i'm so glad y'all liked the last chapter so much wow

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

WADE WILSON

{How the fuck.}

[He kissed us.]

{Like, a lot. Voluntarily. He even sighed into it.}

[He digs us.]

{Yeah, that's the weird part.}

"So, you really don't mind my mug?" I ask, glancing at him as we walk back to his apartment. We decided to abandon taking the subway home; walking was more serene right now, because of rush hour, according to Peter.

"If I didn't like your mug, I wouldn't have kissed it. And kissed it s'more." Peter says decidedly, and I laugh.

"Okay, fair. But, I won't hold it against you if you come to your senses later on, Petey Boy. I won't be mad at you any. I'm kind of insane." I assure, and Peter sighs.

"I like you because you're caring, and funny, and an asshole, and selfless, and careful." He says quietly to me.

{Whoa.}

"And," Peter continues, "somehow, you have more humanity than anyone I've ever met, Wade Wilson. And that is something."

[I think I'm crying. Can non-corporeal voices cry?]

"Also, you have incredible bone structure." Peter adds on, kicking a pebble with his tattered vans.

I kick it back to him.

My heart swells.

"Well, Baby Boy, you sure are somethin'." I hum, and Peter brushes his cheek against my shoulder in response.

"Needy little thing, huh?" I huff, bringing the arm around my shoulder to ruffle his hair. He laughs, ducking his head.

Unbelievable. This is too cute. I'm gonna die. Like, for real die.

"So," Peter starts, slow at first. "Does this mean we're, like… dating? Am I your boyfriend?"

[Ooh.]

"Do you want to be my boyfriend?"

"Well, yeah - I mean, if you want to be my boyfriend, or if -"

"Stop working yourself up, boyfriend." I grin, and Peter seems contented by this response, shoving me good naturedly.

"Y'know, Petey, you're fucking strong. And you can fight. What's up with that? Like, I'm aware that acrobatics strengthens, essentially, your entire body, but fuck. And you've got freaky good reflexes, Baby Boy." I tell him, and he shrugs.

"I mean, I have to know some stuff if I'm gonna be working with the Avengers, right? They can't leave me totally defenseless. But, I can't fight fight, Wade." He says.

"Bullshit. You had me matched this morning."

"Did not." Peter says petulantly.

"Uh, yeah, kid. And I'm a mercenary." I laugh.

"You're the trained one, Wade, not me."

"I guess we'll just have to have a rematch, then." I say, glancing down to see him smile, ducking his head and scuffing his sneaker in the gravel.

"Fine. I guess we will." He laughs.

[He has a pretty laugh.]

{He has a pretty everything.}

I remember why we're walking home in the first place before I turn to him. "How's your lap doing? Numbness? Burning?"

"Huh? Oh, no, I think I'm fine." Peter says, patting his thigh and shaking his head. "It doesn't hurt too bad anymore, so I think-"

A man that I hadn't been paying much attention to bumps into Peter's shoulder - which is nothing out of the ordinary for a New York City street.

There is nothing particularly memorable about the man. He is average height, if not a bit lean, average frame and build, pale skin, and the type of hair that can either be blond or light brown. The man is nothing special. He's average. Forgettable.

But, as he brushes into Peter's shoulder, the man reels back, clapping Peter on the arm with a slow smile. "My apologies," he says, and locks eyes with a very silent Peter.

And then the man is walking away, off to wherever he was going.

Peter comes to a halting stop, his eyes downcast and his brows furrowed, his breathing labored slightly.

"Wade." Peter breathes, so soft I'm not sure if I imagined it or not.

"Peter?" I say, but it comes out more of a question. When he doesn't answer me, I move to stand in front of him.

"Peter? Kid, what happened?" I ask, more urgently now, putting a hand to his jaw, against his pulse.

Peter jumps slightly at the contact, and his hands come to fidget over his stomach, as if he isn't sure what to do with them. He stumbles forward a step and I grab his shoulders.

"Peter, tell me what's wrong." I tell him more sternly.

Within a second, Peter whips around with wild ferocity in his eyes, darting in the direction the man was walking in.

[He's not smart sometimes.]

He's running so fast that I have to sprint after him for a solid minute before I can catch up to him, grab him, and pull him back and against me.

Peter fights against me for a moment, prying at my arms around his chest with an angry grunt.

I drop him to the ground again and hold his shoulders tightly, shaking him once. "What the fuck was that, huh?" I ask, staring hard at him.

Peter doesn't answer me for a moment. His body is shaking with anger, or fear, or both, and it takes several moments until he relaxes under my grip and the violent glint in his eyes dissipates.

I finally let him go once he looks meek, more scared than angry now.

"Th - the man. He - I know -" Peter stutters out, his hands crossed over his stomach now as he sucks in a ragged breath.

I peer behind him quickly, to see the man has long left.

{Take Peter and go. Obviously something's wrong with him.}

[Kill that man.]

"I - he was in my d-dream. Him. Him." Peter shudders, his jaw clenching.

My heart lurches and my blood boils at the same time. For the first time in a very long time, Deadpool's instincts and Wade Wilson's instincts rival each other.

Deadpool wants to heft Peter over his shoulder and get somewhere where we aren't vulnerable.

Wade Wilson wants to pull Peter into his arms and tell the boy that he will never let that man hurt him, and that they'll figure it out.

Together, Wade and Deadpool both want to kick the fucker's ass into next week and wrap Peter in a blanket.

"He was in my dream. He was the one - the one who - who - who did -" Peter chokes out a sob, drawing his arms against himself and looking very small. He's sucking in ragged breaths and his hands are shaking so much he has to pull them into fists.

I kneel down slightly to look into his eyes, forcing him to focus on something. "Peter - hey, Baby Boy, it's going to be fine -"

"N-no! No, it was just a dream! He's not supposed to be real! This isn't possible - I've never seen anything like this -" He stops himself intentionally there instead of stuttering.

{Mhm.}

He continues, "But he's here, and he knew me, Wade, I could tell, and -" Peter cries out, loud. It's an angry and frustrated and scared scream, and he crosses his hands over his groin out of habit, like he did after his dream.

My heart hurts. What the fuck.

"Oh, no, Petey," I hum, pulling him in tightly. He presses his face against my chest and just shudders. He doesn't cry - he's hiccuping and sucking in air, and his eyes are glassy, but he doesn't cry.

I think he's as angry as I am.

And just as scared, too.

"I think Tin Man and Dr. Smashy were onto something. Someone wants you for somethin'."

I pull away slightly to look at him, cupping his face with my hands carefully. There's an angry spark in his eyes that matches my own, but his cheeks are blotchy from fear. I stroke my thumb over his cheekbone until he stops looking moments away from panicking.

"Listen to me. We're going to fix this. We're going to figure out why this dude is real, we're going to figure out what he wants from you, and we're never going to give it to him." I say lowly, stern. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes." He says, voice raspy.

"Alright." I nod, slinging my arm over his shoulder once again and pulling him close, pressing my lips to his hair before taking out my phone.

"Deadpool? What is it?" Bruce asks me, and he seems confused.

"We're heading over to the Tower. We'll be there in about twenty. Tell the rest of your superhero knitting club." I say.

Peter huffs out a laugh, which was all I wanted.

Notes:

kinda cliffhanger! sorry (i'm not sorry)!

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Chapter 12: Webs.

Notes:

IT'S HERE!

sooo many things are about to happen.

ahaha.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

PETER PARKER

I chew my lip worriedly as Wade and I make our way down the hall to the Avenger's conference room.

His arm is over my shoulder, holding me close. My fists are clenched and my side is pressed against the larger man just so that I stop shaking.

Shaking out of fear, out of confusion, out of sheer anger and frustration, I don't know. Perhaps it's a mix of them all.

My mind is still reeling over the fact that the man in the dream is real. Have I seen him somewhere in real life before, and his face just attached to my dream? Is it as simple as that?

Or, maybe this is a different form of my spidey sense, and it actually somehow managed to produce that dream to warn me of what could happen involving that very real man.

My spidey senses have never done anything like that before, but it's certainly possible. After all, it is just another way of forewarning me of danger, right?

It's been over four days since I've gone patrolling, four days since I put on the suit. I miss it; being out on rooftops, swinging from skyscraper to skyscraper, helping people and stopping crime - there's a certain freedom to it. I thrive for it.

The surge of fire in my veins when I help someone, the fluidity of my body and the freedom I feel when I fight and swing from buildings - it's like nothing else. Being Spider-Man is the biggest gift, the ultimate stress reliever, and a surefire way I'll come home at four in the morning, tired as all hell, and more than a little bruised.

I would have to sneak out at night to patrol, and maybe I could even get some insight on what the fuck is happening in my life right now.

My main priority is to distract myself and finally get back into the Spidey suit, and figure out who that man is.

My dream. That dream terrified me more than any I've ever had. It felt so real, though I know it wasn't. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense that the dream really was my Spidey senses forewarning me of danger - except my senses decided to warn me differently this time, which, by the way, I did not appreciate. I would take the regular three-second-warning shiver instead of that dream any day. But, I suppose, drastic times call for drastic measures.

I'm not an overly emotional boy - at least, not outwardly so. I don't cry in public and I don't break down in public. I do not fear the world in the company of others. Not many dreams have ever brought me to tears, let alone a panic attack.

But, after that nightmare, I woke up and I felt hands still on my thighs, electrodes still over my heart, the boiling water still dripping down my hair, fingers trailing along my waistband and brand marks on my leg and abdomen from the red-hot metal rods. I had felt cold, calculating eyes on me, on my entire body, eyes on the heart monitor. And the dream was about to get worse, because right before I woke up, the man -

"Baby Boy? You hearin' me?" Wade asks, and I jolt so sharply that I have to physically restrain myself from jumping onto the ceiling.

"I'm sorry, I - I -" I clench my fists so hard that crescents are indented into my palms, feeling skin break before Wade grabs my hands.

"Peter," He soothes. And there's nothing special about the way he said my name. He didn't phrase it as a question, or a command. He didn't shout it, or whisper it.

But merely his voice, saying my name, is sonance surrounded by dissonance.

I take a deep, shuddering breath.

"Peter," he repeats, and maybe he sees that it relaxes me.

He opens my fists, keeping my fingers splayed to examine the curved cuts.

I pull them away fast, though. The cuts are thin enough and shallow enough to begin healing soon, and I can't let him see that happen.

God, it hurts that I can't let him know. It would be so much easier.

"Are you okay?"

I'm always okay. "Yes."

"Are you lying to me?" He asks, not mad.

I'm not okay. "Yes." I whisper.

He seems hesitant at first, keeping his distance before moving in close, a hand coming up to cup my cheek. He tilts my head up to look at him.

"We don't have to be okay to persevere, Peter Parker. If we were always okay, we wouldn't be human. You can be scared. Fuck, you can be terrified. But you can be mad, too. And you can be strong, and persevere. You can be both. "

Why is Wade Wilson, Deadpool , a goddamn poet?

My lip trembles and I throw myself into his arms. "I am scared. And I am terrified. And I'm so fucking mad that I can feel my hands shaking because of it and my stomach burn because of it."

"I know." He says, and I believe that he does know. Of course he knows, what with all his own experiences.

He pulls away and pecks me on the forehead. "We're gonna go in there, and shit is gonna get worked out."

Wade moves first, taking the last few steps to the conference room.

He opens the door with a finality and assurance that I wish I had, but I follow him in anyway.

Six heads turn to us in unison from around the fire pit. Tony, Steve, Bruce, Clint, and Natasha, and most surprisingly, Thor, who must be visiting. And although I've met them all numerous times before, as Spider-Man and Peter, it's still a bit of a rush each time I see them. Today, I don't have it in me to be as excited.

"Before we get started, I have a question." Wade states. "Do you guys just, like, have permanent sleepovers here? Do youhave homes of your own, or?" He asks, gesturing to the whole of them.

Clint chuckles, and Banner rolls his eyes. Thor furrows his brows.

"Hey, everyone." I wave, trying to keep the discomfort out of my voice, sitting on the far end of the couch with my legs tucked under me, coiled. In reality, though, I'm most comfortable sitting like this - since becoming Spider-Man, I've found that I need to stretch my joints more, now that my flexibility has increased.

"You look distressed, young Peter," Thor states, "What troubles you?"

"Well, my muscular friend, that's what we're here to talk about." Wade says brightly, moving to sit beside me. He leaves a foot of space between us, and he must have noticed that I was keeping to myself, keeping some distance.

I sit tight, coiled as if ready to jump, feeling… off.

Bruce glances at me worriedly, quick, nonchalant, and I incline my head at him briefly. I need to talk to him, soon.

"Anytime now, kiddos." Tony says airily, voice thick with condescension, taking a seat beside Steve.

I take a breath, fidgeting with my hands between my knees. Lying is nothing new to me when I'm surrounded by The Avengers all day. But lying about something so deeply intertwined with the caverns of my mind, and my life as Spider-Man, well, that's a different story entirely, and it's one that I'm uncomfortable with.

"I - last night, I had a dream -"

"You are a teenager - this dream, as you subtly said, is understandable for individuals experiencing hormonal changes." Thor says kindly, and I narrow my eyes. Wade barks out a laugh, quickly sobering and clearing his throat.

"What? No, that - no." I stammer, cheeks flushing hot. "Not that kind of dream." I frown, raking a hand through my hair nervously. I can hear my heart pounding against my ribs, and suddenly it's brighter in the conference room than I previously remembered. My advanced senses are the only thing to blame - since I got bitten, sensory overload always happens whenever I'm anxious, stressed, or in danger.

"I had a night terror that was probably about the people who are after me." I say, and Bruce hums, rubbing his forehead. "It's not uncommon for your subconscious to channel your current fears into dreams. It's a very normal thing, Peter." Bruce assures, and I groan, taking my head in my hands. "No, you don't get it." I stress.

"I - the dream was… it was bad." I mumble. "In the dream, there was an average man with an average voice, and an average appearance. He was disturbingly average. I was tied to a metal vertical operating table, in my underwear, and they were just testing my strength and stamina by - by doing horrible things." I croak, rubbing my hands down my hands worriedly.

Everyone is listening seriously now.

"He was -" I pause, nearly mentioning my identity as Spider-Man. "He… was telling me that I was special, that I could already do so many different things even though they'd only just begun testing on me. He had me set up to a heart monitor, and another man was watching it. He - he threw boiling water on me to see if I ever developed blisters. He'd hit me, kick me," I swallow hard, stilling my shaking hands. "He pressed these heated rods to my body, like - like branding me - and -" I choke, pressing myself against the back of the couch, my hands heavy in my lap. "He -"

I can't say it.

I grit my teeth, a frustrated sound escaping me.

"Peter?" Natasha asks, watching me intently.

"His hands were cold, and his eyes were so calculating and distant, and he would - he was touching me." I grit.

Steve leans forward, a dangerous spark in his eyes.

I go off on a panicked tangent, "He'd drag his fingers down my stomach to watch my reaction, and he looked so amused,and then - then he'd slip his fingers into the waistband of my underwear, and I was screaming at him and cursing and trying to move but I couldn't, and the more I screamed at him, the lower his hand -" I take a ragged breath, rubbing my throat as if trying to coaxing air through it.

Tony and Steve look positively livid, a quiet "shit" escaping Tony's lips.

Wade moves to sit beside me now, putting a hand on the nape of my neck and pushing my head between my knees. "Breathe, Peter," he tells me, and I berate myself for losing my composure for something that could possibly just be a horrible dream and an insane coincidence. Wade's presence comforts me nonetheless, and I suck in air with my head ducked low, Wade's fingers combing through the hair by my nape.

"He started screaming and I ran in. It was kinda a waking nightmare, I guess - he was sitting up and clawing at himself and trying to shove hands off of him that weren't there in the first place, shouting and crying his head off. I had to hold him down so he would hurt himself until he woke up." Wade says lowly, and Bruce looks unsettled by this, Steve's shoulders growing heavy like they do when he's concerned.

"Then I - he eventually calmed down. But, seriously, the dream caused a major panic attack." Wade finishes, a bit lamely, attempting to hide the fact that he essentially rocked me back to sleep.

Which, by the way, I will never admit to them. I'd never hear the end of it, and they very well might try to kill Wade.

"Wait, are you telling me that you got Peter through his panic attack?" Natasha asks Wade, and I can feel his hand stiffen on my neck. "You know I've been tortured, right? And, like, traumatized, and all that? I do know how to help sometimes." Wade says slowly before scoffing. He mutters something about fake fans, but I'm too tired to care.

"Let's not get off track. We need to figure this out -" Steve starts, but Wade raises a hand.

"Not done." And The Avengers look even more distressed.

"Today, we went to Petey's other job at The Bugle, and when we were finally walking back, someone bumps into the kid. He clasps his shoulder and says "apologies" before walking away. Peter freezes and starts panicking, and I damn near thought he was going to pass out from the dazed look on his face. That would've been, what, the fourth time you swooned for me? Fifth? Three times the day we met, and the fourth would've been today, yeah?" Wade asks me, and I make a noncommittal sound, whacking his side.

"Anyway, the man that bumped into Peter is apparently a dead ringer for the man in Peter's dream."

At this, Clint sighs, rubbing his temples, all the others addressing their stress in similar ways. "You should've seen his face. He was angry and terrified and confused all at once - there's no way it's just a coincidence." Wade finishes.

Silence blankets the team, the air thick with tension. Nobody speaks, nobody moves.

"I gotta retire," Clint mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face before leaning back besides Natasha.

I look up, watching them with wary eyes, indignation slowly covering my face. I brace my elbows on my knees, propping my face in my hands. "So - so, what? That's it? Everybody's just… lost?" I ask.

I know this is partially my fault. I know it is. And for that reason, I think I'm more mad at myself than I am at the silence coming from The Avengers. If they knew I was Spider-Man, they'd surely have more suggestions - they would have a wider range of ideas to solve my problem. They would consider more things possible. If only I could tell them who I am, what abilities I possess, then they'd be able to help more.

To them, I am powerless.

To them, I am average. I am starting college in the fall for biomedical science, and I am a photographer. To them, I am helpless and scared. For them, I stifle my abilities and act novice when they train me.

And it pisses me the fuck off.

Steve, ever helpful and positive, begins, "We should start with putting a 24/7 security detail on your home and your aunt's home. You should pay special attention to every person you see on a daily basis; tell us or Wade anything out of the ordinary that they do -"

Too loud, too bright. Everything is too much too much too muhctoomuchtoomuch-

Ears ringing, I stand up abruptly, pressing my palms to my eyes, gritting my teeth. "Stop! Just - Just stop. Please," I shudder, dragging my hands through my hair, only to find that my hands stick lightly.

Take control of your fucking powers. Now is not the time to expose yourself.

"Petey, hey, you're - things will work out." Wade says, and even though my eyes are covered, I think he's about to touch me, I can feel it, but he pulls back. Somehow, he understands I can't tolerate contact right now.

"I - I need - need to go," I panted, my breaths labored, crossing my arms over my chest. My hands instantly stick to the cotton material.

I brush past Bruce as I dart out the door of the conference room to the bathroom, and hope he got the point.

Because Bruce is the only Avenger who knows I'm Spider-Man. It was almost laughable how much of a coincidence it was; I had gone into the city to help The Avengers with a group of Chitauri. We had gotten rid of them all, but I had gotten stabbed, the blade skimming my neck. I didn't realize how bad it was until the situation was finally under control, and I had collapsed, blood flowing from the neck of my costume. Thankfully, none of the other Avengers were nearby, because Bruce preformed a sort of field surgery on me. I kicked and screamed, but he took my mask off to examine the wound and stitch me.

He saw my face.

He acknowledged my face.

He said, "Peter, everything is going to be fine. Lay still."

And we never spoke of it again. Bruce knew my secret, and that was that.

I get about ten paces into the hallway before I hear Bruce address the other fighters in the conference room, "It's a panic attack - I'll check on him. It's better if only one person talks to him at a time." Surely Bruce only says this softly, but his voice is a grenade exploding in my mind. I choke out a pained sound, squeezing my eyes shut.

I run the rest of the way to the bathroom blindly, and immediately double over, bracing one hand on the sink, the other against the wall in front of it. I'm about to stumble back, but I get pulled forward, my hand sticking to the wall. "No," I mutter, "no, no, no." My nervous breaths echo against the tiled walls of the communal bathroom and I grind my teeth together so hard that pain shoots up my jaw. I stare at my reflection through foggy glass and blurry vision, my eyes raw.

Bruce is beside me in a moment's time, walking right up to me and pushing my head up to look at him. A flash of empathy crosses his face at my panic, but he sobers quickly, used to dealing with situations involving loss of control.

"Listen to your own heartbeat." Bruce soothes, taking hold of my arm, though not moving it from the wall just yet. I look up at him warily, silent. My own heartbeat is erratic and fast, and I shake my head. I try and pull away before I feel tiles beginning to tear from the wall.

Bruce shoves my hand back onto the wall. "Okay. That's alright, Peter. How about…" He pauses, watching me carefully, searching my face for something that escapes me. "Listen to Wade's heartbeat." He says to me now, sure.

The statement astounds me, my eyes narrowing at Bruce. "I - I can't -"

"Listen. I know you can, Peter. Listen to his heart."

I stifle my heavy breathing enough to hear over myself. Everything is silent, and yet, the world explodes with sound. I squeeze my eyes shut desperately. I hear my own unsteady heart, I hear Bruce's slow and steady one. I hear the drip of the faucet, making me flinch with each droplet colliding with the sink. My retinas seem to burn even though the bathroom lighting is dim and sporadic.

I hear the ding of the elevator. I hear chatter in the hallway of the floor below us.

And then, faintly, I hear Steve speaking. "I'm sure he's fine, Deadpool."

"Yeah," Clint's voice breaks in. "Bruce is good at dealing with that stuff."

"I like Peter," Natasha says smoothly, "he knows how to handle himself. Maybe we should've, you know, been more composed and prepared when we heard what was happening to him. Our silence probably freaked him out even more."

I push past that noise. I push past the clinking of what must be one of Tony's shot glasses. I push past the sound of Thor's thumb running along Mjölnir's surface. I push past the shaking of Clint's leg.

I can hear Wade's hitched breath, I can practically hear his scars tormenting him.

I push everything back until I hear a lovely, rhythmic thud. I hear the resonance of his heart beat, thrumming softly against his ribs.

Sonance.

I time my breaths with his, my face slowly relaxing, my eyes closed calmly, lips parting. My finger twitches against the tiled wall with every beat of Wade's heart.

Vaguely, I feel Bruce pull my hand back, slowly, slowly, until my hand is no longer against the wall.

I blink back into focus, seeing a knowing glint in Bruce's eyes. I ignore him, squeezing my hand shut only to find that my palms no longer stick.

"Thank you." I say, and Bruce just nods.

"I don't think I'm the one to thank." Bruce hums, but he shrugs his shoulders, presses a finger to my chest until I'm sitting on the sink. "Take it easy for a minute, Peter."

I scrub a hand over my face, sighing. My heartrate has returned to normal, relief flooding over me.

WADE WILSON (immediate continuation)

{Check on him. He could be dying.}

[He could be crying! What if he needs you?]

"You know, for totally unrelated reasons. I'm going to investigate your bathroom. Totally not checking on Peter, though. Absolutely not." I hum.

"Wade, don't, sit down." Steve says tiredly, and I skip to the door.

"Hm. No can do, El Capitan. You may be America's father, but my ass belongs to Canada." I beam, and shut the door behind me, padding quietly to the bathroom.

Really, I'm about to go in, but I hear soft speaking. I stand silently beside the closed door.

"Take it easy for a minute, Peter." I hear Bruce say, and then there's silence for several moments.

"How often do you still lose control of your powers like that?" Bruce asks softly, and my back straightens.

What powers? Cute as fuck powers? Amazing ass powers? Pouty frowny lip powers?

[Oh dear. This is gonna be so fun.]

{For a world-renowned, highly skilled mercenary, you're really fucking oblivious sometimes.}

"Only when I'm really distracted or anxious or panicked." Peter says, almost shamefully, embarrassed. "Or, like, excited. I mean, excited excited. As in -"

"Okay." Bruce cuts him off.

Petey's talking about getting aroused, huh?

{Focus, man!}

[I know you're hearing this shit - stop getting distracted.]

I take a breath, sighing and closing my eyes as I listen, brows furrowed.

"If the others knew that your spidey senses, as you call them, might be responsible for that dream, they would have a lot more suggestions." Bruce says.

"I know."

My eyes snap open, mouth parted almost comically. Holy shit. What the shit biscuit.

"I think the dream was my senses warning me of what could happen if I'm not careful. It was just… very vivid." Peter says, and I cross my arms over my chest. "I - I've only been Spider-Man for just under three years now. 'S still hard sometimes." Peter mumbles.

"Oh, fuck! What the fuck!" I hiss, biting my fist to stay unheard.

[Ah, clarity.]

{Finally.}

"How are you managing to keep your identity a secret from Wade, especially?"

Oddly enough, and this surprises me more than I can say, I'm not… mad. I'm not exactly angry with Peter. I can't be mad at a kid trying to keep his identity as a fucking teenage hero a secret, while balancing college and two rigorous jobs. Still, Peter could have trusted me.

{You're forgetting the part about how blind you've been.}

"Acrobatics, my ass!" I gasp. He's been covering up Spidey's story with a silly acrobatics one! He can fight, and he is insanely strong, and way too flexible and fast. I was mother-fucking right.

I pause for a moment in thought. Imaging being with Peter once he doesn't have to hide those powers.

{The stamina!}

[The agility!]

{The webs. }

Mmh.

On the other end of the spectrum, I'm imagining play-fighting with Peter without worrying about hurting him. I'm imagining an enormous game of tag, running on rooftops and swinging from porches. I'm imagining a training partner who can actually match me in endurance.

Also, spandex. But, that's another thought altogether.

And, then, fuck, poor Peter. He's all alone. For whatever goddamn reason, he feel like he has to hide his identity. He's eighteen and he has to handle all of it alone. He has to handle the trauma, the nightmares, the powers, all alone. My heart clenches again for him, which I'm getting used to.

"It's hard." Peter says, and I snap back to focusing. "I - I wanna tell him. God, I want to scream and tell everyone. I want to be able to web Tony's mouth shut, and I want to scale the Tower in front of all of them. I hate hiding sometimes. And, Wade. I want to tell Wade, but -" Peter freezes, and my eyes widen.

How well can Spidey hear? And can he hear that well all the time, or does he have to try? Does he hear me?

"They're probably getting suspicious. It's a room full of assassins and heroes. They're gonna start thinking something's up any minute now." Peter says.

I sprint back silently, and duck into the conference room again right before the bathroom door opens.

Still, I'll be damned if I'm not gonna have some fun with this.

[Ooh.]

Notes:

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Chapter 13: Fun and Games (No, Seriously).

Notes:

HOOOOO boy.

shit is about to go down in the next few chapters!

also, thank you for the amazing comments and hits and kudos? we're almost at 30 thousand hits. christ on a pogo stick that is awesome. these comics have acted as a blanket and a shield to me for so much of my life, and i'm so glad i can write a story about them that you all love.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

WADE WILSON

"I hate them." Peter huffs, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, head ducked as we walk onto the subway platform.

"Ah, don't say that, Petey Boy. I'm sure they're, like, kinda good." I say before pausing. "Well, aside from the fact that they think leaving entire neighborhoods in ruins qualifies as saving the day, but, still."

Peter blows out a breath before sitting on the train platform bench, his legs tucked under him. "No. No, I still hate them." He says decidedly.

"Well," I sigh, sitting down besides him, clasping his thigh reassuringly.

{Spidey's thigh has tone for such a lean little thing.}

[Mmh. I just wanna bite him. I wanna nip up his leg until I get to his inner thigh, and then, real careful-]

"Well what?" Peter asks after a moment, turning to me.

I jolt, looking at him. "Oh, no. I've got nothing, Baby Boy. That just sounded like something people say. Stark and the rest of the Gossip Girls were shit." I amend.

Peter grunts in annoyance, standing up in front of me, facing the platform.

{Webs is angry.}

[His ass is beautiful.]

"I know!" His voice is shrill at the peak of the last word. "What, that's all they came up with? They just want us to take more precautions and watch the people we're around more closely? That's bullshit!" Peter says, and, yeah, it's bullshit. "It's like they were all drawing blanks!" He shouts, and a few people waiting for the train give Peter odd looks, which Peter immediately looks ashamed about.

Before I can even try and help, Peter shoves his hands in his hair, his back arching languidly towards the sky. His shirt clings to his waist in ripples against the wind. His lithe frame is silhouetted against the bruising sky, and Peter blows out a breath.

Peter's anger seems to come in short bursts, outwardly exploding before resolving his emotions until they're internalized, or until they break free again.

[Wow, okay, Doc.]

Excuse you. Considering you're in my own brain, you seem to forget that being a mercenary strongly depends on understanding people, on noticing. It's just… never mattered like this before. I've never cared past a professional level until now.

With the tension leaving his shoulder, Peter crouches down, his back hunched so that his fingertips touch the floor between his knees. His spine shows in slight ridges beneath his shirt, and he seems weirdly comfortable.

Oh, wait, it is comfortable for him. Because he's goddamn Spider-Man. Amazing.

He stands back up after several moments, turning to me, standing right before my knees reach. "This is - this is just… lazy. It's like, if they don't immediately know what they're looking for, they just ramble about increased security and 'keeping an eye out.'" Peter rants. "I'd never just send someone home when there's such a clear and abnormal risk." He says to me before pausing.

"I mean, if I were a hero, or something." He adds on cooly.

I love this.

I nod my head. "Yeah, 'course."

Peter clears his throat, the toes of his shoes kicking the cement before spinning around towards the setting sun again. "You're jumpy when you're pissed, Petey Pie." I note, and Peter waves me off.

"Sometimes I just wanna grab Tony Stark and -" Peter's in the middle of making a fairly violent gesture when I lunge forward quickly, grabbing his belt loops and pulling him back. Peter gasps, toppling between the V of my legs with a huff.

"Wade." Peter says incredulously.

"D'you wanna get up?" I hum, hands on his waist.

"I - well, no." Peter says, and I beam. Peter pauses for a moment before sighing contentedly, squirming a bit before getting comfortable, pressing himself closer against me.

[I - he - his ass-]

{...}

"Damn seats, huh, Wade? Kinda uncomfortable." Peter says, nudging against me again, his back arching.

Fucker.

{Whatever you do, don't grab him and pull him closer -}

[Pull him closer! Pull him closer and grind your hips against his -]

"Oh, Baby Boy, you're the worst kind of perfect, aren't you? We can play this, if you wanna." I say, breath ghosting against the shell of his ear. Peter shudders, the pulse at his neck rocketing under his skin. He ducks his head, his hands gripping the wood of the seat between his knees.

I can barely make it out, but the wood groans and splinters under his clutch.

Holy shit. That is the hottest thing I've ever pretended not to see.

"Damn seats, huh, Petey?" I hum calmly, and Peter gives a breathless laugh, his eyes narrowing as he looks towards the sun. His hands cover the warped wood now and I grin. His head tipped up, I take the opportunity to wrap my arms loosely around his waist, fingers faintly skimming up his abdomen. He makes a breathless sound, pressing himself back, closer.

The rumble of the 7 train bounding down the tracks comes fast, and my lips brush against his jaw before Peter stands abruptly.

I glance behind me quickly, to find that there's a ragged chunk of the bench barely hanging on.

I stand right after him, mind reeling and boxes silent before I grin. "Was that your way of getting me back for pinning you against the wall earlier today in front of The Bugle? Because I think I won this round. Just sayin'."

"I don't recall that at all." Peter says airily, taking my hand and pulling me into the train behind him.

"You don't?" I ask, and the train door close behind a herd of other people who enter. Peter leans back against the wall where the corner of the door and the seats meet, with myself standing in front of him, my back facing the public as I hold onto a bar. "Because I'm pretty sure you were three seconds away from makin' some noise." I say with a shrug, and Peter laughs, ducking his head.

"No." He argues lamely, and I chuckle.

After that, the ride is calm. As calm as the 7 train just after rush hour can be, anyway. Peter leans forward to lay against my chest, his hands in his pockets, and I bracket him him so he doesn't fall, one hand on the pole and the other against the door. He rambles about small things sometimes, how his aunt always knits him sweaters that he wears so he won't hurt her feelings, how his aunt makes amazing food, how he has a lot of energy that he can never get rid of, but he always comes home tired after a day at the Bugle.

Hellooo? Anything?

{No, I like his stories.}

[Mh.]

Times Square.

I tell him some things, too, but I avoid the gore. I tell him that I make the best damn pancakes in the entire world, I tell him that I can recite all of The Golden Girls verbatim, which he giggles at, his laughter resonating against my chest. I tell him that the line between good and bad is very much blurred when so many horrendous things have been exposed, and he nudges his cheek against my chest.

{He's a keeper.}

At Grand Central, a crowd of people so thick piles on that Peter just wraps his arms around me before pulling me closer. He doesn't try and make me face the crowd.

I watch the crowd through the reflection in the door, not needing more than three seconds to properly check each person. There's a short guy who's clearly high, offering people pot and holding out a tiny potted plant with a chuckle. There's several old women with groceries talking in another language. Indonesian. Several men in suits hug the poles, briefcases between their ankles and earbuds making them dead to the world. Kids with sticky fingers wrap themselves around the poles happily. A young couple are glued together, eyes shut and lips locked. Those are all the people in a five foot radius.

Several people get off at Vernon, shoving their way towards the doors. Many push themselves off the drain, the doors sliding shut behind them.

Wait.

Several people push themselves out the doors, making a show of shoving people out of the way so they don't miss their stops.

Two people who pushed their way closer to the door near us, however, did not get off the train.

In the same second, Peter's body goes rigid, and I feel him shudder.

Spidey senses in action, I see.

{That's adorable.}

[It's gonna be hilarious when we have to actually fight in a few minutes. How's he gonna play his skills off?]

Peter takes a moment to peer over my shoulder, whiskey eyes cool and calculated as he searches the crowd. He must finally see the same people I saw, and what his senses warned him of, because he very calmly leans against my chest again.

"Wade?" He begins.

"Yes, Baby Boy?" I muse, hand tightening on the metal rail.

"There's two people, to your left -"

"We've got something stuck to our shoes. I know, Petey." I finish for him, watching them closely in the reflection. "I'm watching 'em. They've been trailing since at least Grand Central. A man and a woman. They just shoved their way closer to us a few seconds ago. Do either of them look familiar to you?"

"No," Peter says, sure of himself, and I nod.

"Alright. Well, I sure hope you were being modest when you said you couldn't fight well. Because they're not gonna leave without crossing paths with us." I warn him, and he sighs. I can feel his heart pound against my own chest, as if he's working out how to best look inexperienced.

"I'll - uh. I'll be fine, I think." He disclosed, and I grin, kissing his hair. "That's my boy," I chirp, and Peter flushes.

Time to kick some motherfucking ass.

At the Hunters Point stop, the man and women stand at either side of us, the man about five paces from me, and the woman three paces from Peter.

"They have ear buds." Peter purrs against my chest. "They're part of whatever wants to take me." I nod at him discreetly. I roll my shoulders, stretching my back and groaning as joints pop. Peter furrows his brow at this. "Don't kill them." He warns, and I slump my shoulders, giving him pleading eyes. "Ah, Petey, you're no fun." I whine, and Peter stares harder. "I'm serious."

"I know." I provoke, and he cocks his head. "No killing rule, right?" I ask, and he flushes again, remembering our conversation about guns and killing when we first entered his apartment, and again earlier today.

Before he can answer, I add on, "Plus, I can't kill them either way. We have to question them."

"Right." Peter agrees, and then the woman starts moving away from Peter.

His eyes follow her cautiously, but I already know what's she's going to do.

"Brace yourself. She's going to pull the emergency brake. This train is going fast and people will go flying; people will fall on the ground, hit their heads, get hurt. Everyone will be down and out except them two. They're expecting us to be surprised. They have no idea we know. When she pulls the brake, he's going to come for us. Follow my lead." I explain, but I think Peter's on the same page.

I can tell Peter isn't happy about people getting hurt, but he also knows we don't have much of a choice if we don't want to scare the two people away.

An excited glint sparks in Peter's amber eyes, his face alight and ready.

{He is… so attractive.}

"I haven't kicked some ass in a while. I'm pumped." I exclaim, and Peter plants his feet.

"Now," he intones.

And the train screeches to a piercing halt, all passengers flying except us.

Notes:

CLIFFHANGER HAHA.

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Chapter 14: Train Safety 101.

Notes:

this chapter is an equal balance of epic fight sequences, angst, crude comedy, and hurt/comfort.

you're welcome, but, sorry in advance.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

PETER PARKER

"Now," I intone.

And the train screeches to a deafening halt. All around us, people scream and fall, except for the four of us. They topple to the floor, their heads get hit, ribs fractured and arms crushed. Someone gets propelled forward, their head hitting the pole with a sickening clang.

"Use those legs, Baby Boy." Wade quips, and he ducks just as I grab the rail and kick the man square in the chest as he lunges towards us, right where Wade's face would've been.

Don't use your full strength, don't use your full strength, dontuseitdontuseit -

I jump over Wade, who makes a beeline to his right, throwing a punch at the girl. They immediately start fighting, matching each other hit for hit.

The man, easily over six feet, with even more muscle mass than Wade, stumbles back but grabs my thigh, tugging me closer. I use the momentum and throw myself at him, wrapping my legs around the front of his neck. He can't see, grappling at my shirt, and I use all my strength to swing him down onto the ground, straddling his chest.

"Oh! Hot!" Wade growls at me, ducking under a right hook from the woman.

"Who are you?" I ask, watching him curiously.

"Your worst nightmare." He grits, a barking laughter escaping him.

I shudder, but my eyes narrow. "You know, that's kind of cliche." I say, shrugging. "I'd have gone for a more menacing first impression, but that works, I guess -" The man rolls his eyes and makes his move.

He attempts to headbutt me, but I pull back, and he instead shoves me down with his thigh, his hands pinning mine to the ground. Before I can react, he shoves a knee between my legs roughly, grabbing my wrists. My breath catches in my throat, a flush of red covering my face and neck. Pain flares out and across my lower stomach and groin, my eyes briefly screwing shut as I bite down a cry.

"What - hey! Not below the belt, fucker." Wade growls, his arm twisted behind him and face slammed into the wall, before kicking his foot back and into her kneecap, making her collapse. He puts her in a headlock, watching me worriedly. "Ooh, Baby Boy, you okay?" He asks, a hiss of sympathetic pain escaping him.

"Uh-huh." I squeak.

"Perhaps you're weaker than we thought?" The man questions me, his knee digging higher. A strangled cry escapes me, squirming under him, desperately resisting using my full strength. "You think I have balls of steal, or somethin'?" I shout.

The man huffs out a chuckle. His knee, I am painfully aware, remains firmly in place. "Oh, man." I wheeze. "Not fun. Get off. Offoffoffoff." I grunt, face red hot and pain booming. He shifts, which is terrifically worse.

"You, sir, are the personification of gas station sushi. I just want you to know that." I rasp.

"Stay down, Peter Parker." The man tells me, and I furrow my brows.

"Has that line actually worked on anyone yet?" I ask, and he looks livid. I try sliding out from under him, but his hands on my shoulders stop me. I barely use one-sixteenth of my full strength, and I hurl the man off of me. He crashes into the seats across from him, momentarily dazed.

"Jesus, man! What's wrong with you!" I scream, hands tentatively holding myself.

Wade stares blankly at this, looking between my lean frame and the hulk of a man that I easily tossed into a wall. I stare back widely as he stammers, "Uh. Okay, well, wow. Adrenaline does wild things. Uh."

I swallow thickly, wincing and tugging at my pants. Wade watches me, nodding knowingly. "You, uh, okay? Down - down there -" Wade asks, voice high in question as he gestures to his groin.

My cheeks flush, but frankly I'm just glad Wade moves past my show of insane strength.

"Um, yeah." I clear my throat. "Any possible internal pain will heal." I shrug.

"Uh, what?" Wade asks, and he turns to check on the woman recovering from his latest blow, but I almost think he's grinning.

Oh, fucking hell. Way to go, Peter. "I - I mean, well, I'll heal. 'S not too bad."

"Right." Wade nods. "Right -"

The woman slams Wade's head into the pole once. "Ow!" Wade screeches. "Rude, lady!" And he tosses her across the train car, falling onto a heap of other fallen passengers. "Was that sexist? Isn't it more sexist if I don't hit you? I mean, you're clearly trained, and you're trying to kidnap Petey, so…" Wade trails off, kneeling down and swiping her knees out when she storms towards him again.

"Do not kill her, Wade!" I warn as the man pushes himself up off the seats.

"Bossy!" Wade whines, grabbing the woman's forearm and tugging her down onto the ground before she can punch him again.

"God, with all your preaching about not killing anyone, you sound like Spider-Man. You should hear Webs rant about all that." Wade says, with a roll of his eyes.

"What." I blurt, freezing with wide eyes, my cheeks flushed and heart pounding. Wade give me an amused glance before turning his attention back to the woman.

The man takes that time to kick me hard in the stomach, sending me stumbling back before I focus again.

Wade is oddly silent again, fighting with the woman.

She gets up and comes at him again with full force, rage in her eyes. "Lady, you're pissing me off." Wade warns darkly, huffing out a breath, watching her warily with his head lowered.

That was… hot.

I can't focus on him now, ducking under a fist the man throws at me and kicking him in the back, sending him flying forward.

"Can we maybe, like, talk this through?" I ask, feigning confusion and parrying to the left to avoid the man's swing.

"We'll have plenty of time to talk later, trust me." He grunts, and I still.

"What?" I breathe, goose flesh settling over my skin.

"Peter," Wade says sternly, ducking under the woman's punch and kicking her abdomen. "focus. You have to focus for me."

My shock gives the man time to land an uppercut punch to my chin. After the moment of blinding pain dissipates, I can feel the muted buzz of the punch.

"Oh, shit. Not the face!" Wade cries, throwing an elbow in the woman's nose.

I know I definitely have a split bottom lip, I can feel the wet sting of it. "Fuck," I hiss, licking my lips and tasting metallic. I dab at my bloodied lip with my sleeve urgently, pausing when the train intercom comes on.

"Sorry for that, folks. We'll have EMT's at the next stop if anyone needs them and emergency evacuation ready. We're gonna start moving again."

A string of curses slips through Wade's teeth in vicious, tight-lipped mutters. "Fuckin' hell. We're gonna have to avoid them."

I can't answer him, because the man wipes his fists on his shirt and grimaces at me. "They told me not to hurt you." The man grins, rolling up his sleeves. Wow. I swipe my sleeve over my bloody lip once more before shaking my head in disappointment.

"Okay, really, that's even more cliche. It's kind of shabby, you know? Like, put some effort in."

"Peter has a point," Wade slurs, his face smashed between a seat and the woman's knee. "At least this lady is giving me a run for my money."

He barrels towards me again. He's large and oafy, and even without using my powers, I'm much slimmer and faster than him. I duck under him, slamming my elbow into his back. I land a blow to the man's jaw, watching as he stumbles back before righting himself with a dangerous darkness in his eyes. The man quickly moves forward, aiming to punch my stomach.

I swipe to the left, kicking the man's knee out. The guy is quick on his feet, because he swivels on the knee he dropped and grabs my ankles, pulling me down to land with a thud.

Before I can get up the man is crawling over me, pinning my hands to the floor above my head. I can feel his body against mine, larger and heavier and damn near suffocating. My chest tightens and I press my feet against either of the man's hips, muscles coiling in my stomach as I push up and behind me, flipping us over so that the man lands with his back on the floor and me on top of him.

I pin him down by straddling his waist, land a punch to his ribs and another to his jaw again.

God, if only I could've used all my skills. He'd have been out of the way five minutes ago.

Wade has the woman on the floor, legs wrapped around her waist and very much in a headlock. Wade adds pressure and pulls, just a bit, and within moments, she faints. "Well, fuck! About fucking time!" Wade yells at her, slumped over in the train car now.

The train lumbers into the station then, and Wade pulls himself off the ground, standing beside me. "Tell me who you are." I say, low, and the man sneers at me.

The train doors open.

I underestimate his strength, and he swings his torso up to headbutt me. Wade grabs me before I can fall, and then we're the first ones off the train, chasing the man.

I jump over strollers and carts, ducking under gesturing hands and skidding around platform performers. Wade is close behind me, following my path instead of shoving things aside. The man is always ten steps ahead of us.

Finally he hops clumsily over the turnstiles, myself flying over them moments behind, Wade on my tail. A comforting flame resides in the caverns of my ribs, determination in my eyes as we chase him.

I push the train station doors open to find that it's pouring rain outside, dark storm clouds gathering overhead. My hair is instantly wet, clothes sticking to my shoulders.

The man has more ground on us now, sprinting quickly down an alleyway cornered by an apartment complex.

"He's going down the block." I say. "Go right. I'll go left and chase his tail. If I don't catch him your can intercept him."

Wade casts a glance at me, unsure, before he seems to change his mind and deem my request safe. He turns away from me with a laugh and starts sprinting right, and myself left.

As soon as Wade is out of eyesight, I sprint down the less crowded block, and then stop chasing the man, who is now almost at the end of the block. Insead, I easily scale the wall of an old apartment building. On the roof, I see the man in the alley below me, running towards an intersection to a more crowded street. On the other side, Wade is turning the corner, about to meet him.

I crouch over the corner of the roof, peering down and taking a deep breath.

I need to patrol tonight. This - doing this - it's beyond cathartic.

With Wade distracted, peering at the man from the corner and waiting, I flip off the roof and land softly on the balls of my feet, right behind Wade.

I stand up, turning to him. With his eyes still on the man, Wade says, "Impressive, Petey. How'd you know he'd go this way? What, did you go on the roof, or somethin'?"

"I - uh, very funny." I mumble. "No, I just guessed and ran." I say, and Wade hums.

"He's coming." Wade says, and I hardly hear him before the man abruptly turns the corner, coming face-to-face with us.

He immediately headbutts Wade, trying to flee the other way, but I grab his elbow and tug him back, swinging him into the alley wall. "What, did your plan fail? Gonna go reconvene and plan something else?" I ask, voice clipped. The man chuckles, prying my hands from his chest and swinging at me, I block his hit, and twist his arm behind his back, kicking his knee out and dropping him to the floor.

"Your strength is impeccable, Peter." The man croons, and I immediately loosen my grip, glancing at Wade, who is watching carefully while simultaneously cursing over a nosebleed.

"Maybe you're just losing your touch." I jeer back, and he laughs.

I press him down into the ground, twisting his arm higher against his back, until he yelps. "I want nothing to do with you. I want nothing to do with the woman we left in the train. I want nothing to do with your organization." I take a breath, my face inches from his. "And I want nothing to do with whatever your boss will do to me." A smile curls on his lips. "If you do this again, you'll be in high-security prison faster than you can say jailbait." I stress, and Wade makes an impressed sound.

"Do you hear me?" I ask.

"Loud and clear. After all, I'm merely the messenger."

I let the man up, and Wade, pulls out a knot of zip-ties from one of his pockets.

"Did you - do you just have those with you?" I ask, and Wade narrows his eyes at me, like it's an absurd question to ask. "Peter, you always have to be prepared to disarm a criminal. Or to have a bondage session."

"I - okay." I say flatly, and Wade ties the man's wrists in front of him, putting the man between us.

I dial Steve's number to tell him, my phone ringing, sighing as I take a few paces into the alley, back turned to them. "Peter? What's wrong? Did something happen?" Steve asks worriedly.

"We have someone from -"

"But, remember, Peter Benjamin Parker," The man starts, and I pause, my back going stiff as I turn to him, mouth parting.

"What did you say?" I breathe.

"Your middle name is Benjamin?" Wade gawks, unaware of the… the implications -

"How do you know, what else do you -"

Steve is speaking on the phone, shouting my name, trying to understand what's happening.

"How did it go again, Peter? Ah, that's right." The man says, clears his throat with a curiously odd expression on his face as he watches me. "Peter. I know things have been difficult lately, and I'm sorry about that…" He trails off.

I drop my phone, clattering onto the dirty cement ground. Steve's shouting grows muted over the phone. How does he know? How does he -

"Do not." I choke, hands shaking.

Wade looks from the man to me, concern thick on his face. "Peter? What's wrong - what's he saying to you?"

The man continues, eyes growing wide with amusement, with a winning glow. "I think I know what you're feeling. Ever since you were a little boy, you've been living with so many unresolved things." The man says.

"Shut up. Shut up." I warn, eyes red and glossy, my stance guarded. My sweater hangs open, a finger pointed at the man in warning, hair whipping against my forehead and surely pitiful expression on my face. Wade looks just about ready to staple the man's mouth shut.

"Well, take it from an old man." He continues mercilessly. "Those things send us down a road, they make us who we are. And, if anyone's destined for, greatness, it's you, son." The man says, his voice laced with bitter, feigned endearment.

"How - how do you know this?" I ask. I swipe a sleeve across my face, wiping my eyes. "How do you know what he said!"

"You owe the world your gifts. You just have to figure out how to use them." The man says, his voice soft and affectionate.

"Don't." I say sharply, a plead, my voice wavering. "Just - don't say -"

"And know that wherever they take you, well always be here." He says, and a wide, knowing grin is plastered on his face.

"Shut up!" I scream, face hot with anguish, my ears ringing and my vision blurry with tears. I take a step closer but stop suddenly, keeping my distance.

Don't get closer, I think. If you confront him, you'll hurt him too badly. You won't be able to control your powers. You're too unstable.

"So come on home, Peter. You're my hero, and I love you." The man finishes, and he even mimics the beep of the voicemail ending.

Traitorous tears stream down my cheeks when I storm over to him, rushing him, punching him square in the jaw, nearly knocking him to the ground before Wade tosses the man down and grabs me. Wade takes the brunt of my force, holding me back. "Jesus fuck, Peter." Wade gasps, grabbing me firmly, straining against my own strength. He oddly makes no comment about my strength, either because he doesn't notice or doesn't think anything of it.

"How the fuck do you know that!" I scream. "How - how do you know?" I gasp, my voice a ragged shout. I stop fighting against Wade, collapsing against him, feebly trying to get at the man. It turns into a sob. "How d'you know…" I mutter weakly, and Wade pulls me against him. "You're okay, it's okay, it's - it's going to be okay." His hand is on the nape of my neck, shushing me distractedly as I sob tiredly, not exactly a cry but too tired to care if I were. Wade's eyes still trained on the man, laughing lowly from the ground.

His lip is a bloody mess, and his white teeth are lined with crimson red as he chuckles.

"How do you know." I whisper, and the man just laughs.

My heart pounds with rage, and, as if knowing, Wade holds me tighter. "Don't." He says sternly. "You might be at an advantage physically, but for now, he has the upper hand."

Within seconds, three black SUVs pull up around the alley, and Steve and Clint emerging from one, and Natasha and Banner from another. The middle van is a proxy, as always.

"I traced your call." Steve says simply. "Well, Tony traced your call." He seems to get a better understanding of the situation, looking closer at me. "Peter, what happened?" His voice is soft and careful, years of trouble broadcasted in his eyes.

Wade shakes his head fervently at Steve at the same time I turn away from him, swallowing thickly. "Not now. I'll text one of you." He says quietly, briskly.

"Just arrest him." I mutter, and Natasha smiles widely at me, already hefting the large man up from the floor, reinforced handcuffs on his wrists. "Already done." She walks away with him, opening the door of the middle SUV. Wade steps away from me for a moment, and stands beside Natasha in front of the man. "Now, Peter is against this, but, desperate times,right?" Wade begins with a laugh, nudging the man's shoulder before sobering, grabbing his shirt collar. "I don't know who you are, or what you just said to Peter, but if you do anything of the sort to him again, your head will be shipped to my best friend, Weasel, and your body will be in the morgue. Now, he's an arms dealer, but I'm sure he'd be willing to findsomething to do with your pitiful brain." Wade chuckles good-naturedly, rapping his knuckles on the man's skull. I wouldn't have been able to hear him speak if I were normal, but, somehow, I'm not exactly angry with him, partly because I'm too drained, and partly because I know Wade is at least trying to remain levelheaded.

Natasha shoves him into the car, and he disappears behind dark tinted windows.

Bruce glances at me from his spot by Steve, raising a brow. I nod gently, assuring him it's fine, before he turns back to Steve.

The sky is bruised shades of dark blue now, the moon high in the sky and not a star in sight. Street lamps have now turned on, the chatter of the nighttime crowd growing audible. The brisk, late autumn coldness hits everyone now, wind rippling hair and coats alike. It scatters leaves and garbage and fliers, and everything lacks a sense of permanence in this wind. Steve and Bruce are talking near the lip of the alley, Natasha and Clint are near the car.

I take a shuddering breath, sinking down to the ground against the wall as the man's words play back in my head. Peter, I know things have been difficult lately…

I squeeze my eyes shut, bracketing my face with my arms, gritting my teeth and forcing myself to stay 's too much. Wade hurries beside me once again, crouching down in front of me, looking patient, worried. I can't see him, but I can feel his gaze.

"Petey? Can you open your eyes for me?" He asks, his hand on my leg.

"I want to go." I say, and Wade sits down on the ground in front of me. "We'll go. You just have to get up. Open your eyes, at least. Work with me, Baby Boy. I mean, I can carry you home. You're a lean little thing." He says, and I begrudgingly look up at him, my eyes narrowing.

Wade sighs when I look at him. I must look like a mess. My eyes bust be glossy, cheeks wet with angry tears. My nose must be red and my lips must be pouting, cheeks red and blotchy with anger. "Ah, Peter." He says quietly. He curses lightly under his breath. I can tell he's mad, but not at me.

"What happened? What'd he say to you?"

I don't answer him at first, my eyes falling back into my lap. I wring my hoodie between my fingers, sniffing. I take a breath, looking up at him from my lashes.

"He quoted the last thing my uncle ever told me before he was killed. A voicemail he left me. He - he knew it." I grit out. Wade just stares, eyes calculating and worried and angry.

"Fucking piece of shit." Wade mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Your middle name, then -" Wade pieces together.

"His name was Benjamin." I say, the name soft on my lips.

"What else do they know, then?" I ask, not expecting an answer.

"Well, Petey. If they don't know it already, they'll know it soon enough - they won't win." He says confidently.

I laugh half-heartedly, wiping my eyes.

"Seriously." Wade promises. "That whole attempt was so fucking weak. We're like, at least a thousand times better than them." Wade shrugs, and I really laugh now, nodding in resignation. "Okay, okay."

"Let's go home. I happen to be an amazing cheerer-upper." Wade pulls me up effortlessly, slinging an arm over my shoulder.

Half a block away from the alley, I pause, turning to Wade and throwing my arms around him in a bear hug, knocking him back slightly. Wade wraps his arms around me, his chin resting atop my head and my face buried in his neck. "Thanks."

Thanks for being so sure, for being so nice, for being so damn patient, for being so respectful, for trying, for being so funny, for being so strong, for being so caring, for being so attractive even if you don't think so.

"For what?"

For what, he asked. He has no fucking idea.

I don't answer him.

"So, wanna tell me about your Uncle, kid?" He asks, lacing his hand with mine.

We walk home, and I know things will end up alright. Wade is right.

"I looked up to him. After my parents left the picture, he and my Aunt May basically raised me. He was kinda stern sometimes, but he was always supportive…"

Notes:

this was sad, but, like, it turned out okay, yeah?

the next chapter will have fluff... and not fluff.

LEAVE COMMENTS AND KUDOS.

(also, can you folks please not call me "bitch" to show your excitement for the story? i don't appreciate it and it makes me dysphoric. thanks.)

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Chapter 15: Singing in the Rain.

Notes:

mm cute fluffy fluff and comfort

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

WADE WILSON

On our way home, I requested we make a quick detour. "As much as I love borrowing your clothes for an undeterminable amount of time, prolonged wear of your sweatpants will cut off circulation to all my special parts." I announce, and Peter seems like he wants to argue until he looks down at my exposed ankles, how the front of his sweats stretch tight across my front. "A tragedy." Peter comments with one last glance before he lets me lead him to the alley I keep my go-bag. He was totally checking me out.

Now, we're padding back to Peter's apartment, a duffel bag slung over my shoulder and rain chilling our bones.

"Wade," Peter laughs, high and damn near musical. It's not like his other laugh - where he ducks his head and huffs out this miserable chuckle, like he doesn't deserve to laugh. No, this is a happy, melodic laugh, his head tipping up and eyes alight.

I've gotta say, I have never heard anything sunnier than this boy's laugh in the entirety of my sad fucking life.

There's a cadence to his voice, to the way his laugh is carefree and airy, the way his sighs are somber and his voice is tentative and steady.

No, not cadence, exactly. More like sonance.

Sonance.

What a foreign phrase.

[He's smitten.]

"Wade, stop." Peter giggles, and I'm brought back to the present.

I spin in front of him as we walk back to his apartment, landing gracefully and catching my duffel bag. The rain drenches us completely, coming down in merciless torrents. I blow him a kiss, pressing my hands to my heart. "There were moments of gold, and there were flashes of light. There were things I'd never do again, but then they always seemed right." I sing jokingly, but to my full ability. Peter laughs again, watching me with an endearing and gleeful expression.

Thankfully, it's late and we're on a smaller street, because I'm putting on a goddamn show.

"There were nights of endless pleasure, it was more than any laws allowed." I clutch my chest, walking ahead of Peter, grabbing an imaginary microphone stand and dragging it along with me.

I take a deep breath, and sing the next like. "Baby, baby!" I belt, and Peter stares with wide, bright eyes. I stride closer, ghosting the backs of my fingers down his cheek, winking at him. "If I kiss you like this, and if you whisper like that, it was lost long ago but it's all coming back to me." He watches with impressed amusement, grinning widely.

"If you want me like this," I turn, sticking my backside out a bit, and Peter covers his mouth to stifle his giggle. "And if I need you like that," I point to the ground in front of my feet, and Peter covers bright pink cheeks with his hands, eyes wide and brow raised. "It was gone long ago but it's all coming back to me."

I suck in a breath, taking a bow. Peter hops with enthrallment, bounding with an immature energy that I forgot Peter had. He's been so serious, but he's just a kid. And he's Spider-Man, which is bound to give him even more energy that he has no clue how to channel, stifling his emotions and abilities. It explains his panic attacks, the sensory overload.

{Hey, you get panic attacks.}

[And sensory overload.]

{Especially when your skin is hurting really bad.}

[You guys are, like, twins!]

{Fucked up twins.}

"Did you just hit the high note perfectly?" Peter asks shrilly, face glowing with surprise and excitement.

"I sure fuckin' did, Baby Boy." I grin, and he grabs my hoodie and tugs until we're flush against each other, rain dripping from his auburn hair and pooling on his lashes. "I'm gonna kiss you." He says quietly.

"I'm gonna let you." I purr, and Peter pecks my lips at first before moving close again. I smile into the kiss, Peter slipping his arms around my shoulders, inclining his head to deepen the kiss. Our bodies fit like odd little puzzle pieces and his skin is soft against mine. Our bodies are heavy with rain yet light as air. I nip at his bottom lip before pulling away, Peter's pupils blown wide.

"Come on, Boy Wonder. You're lagging." I tell him, and turn around in front of him, my back to him.

"Wh - I am not lagging!" Peter argues, but he hops on my back anyway. I heft him up a little, holding the backs of his knees and strolling down the street.

"You're a scrawny little thing, Baby Boy. Do you like pancakes?" I hum, and Peter rests his chin atop my head. "'Course I do. But, I - I don't really have an appetite right now. It's, uh, 'M still kinda shook up from before…" He mumbles.

No shit, Webs.

"Alright, you win this round. But I'm making my famous pancakes tomorrow morning. Seriously, Baby Boy, I think those are your ribs I'm feelin' back there."

Peter crouches over me, so that the top of his head covers mine and his hair flops into my vision over my head in waves, staring at me with bright amber eyes. "Hey, I have a fast metabolism." He says grouchily, but this entire scenario is hilarious.

[He is… adorable.]

"I'll bet." I nod encouragingly, and Peter flips back up, my vision clear now.

I can feel the defensiveness radiating off him. I stifle a giggle. "What's that mean?" He asks, keeping the paranoia out of his voice.

"You're a teenager. Teenagers can eat whatever the fuck they want and they'll have a better chance of losing weight than gaining it." I amend, a smug grin on my face.

"Oh. Right. Yeah, you're right." Peter says, clearing his throat.

{This is hilarious.}

[He sucks at secret identities.]

{It's kinda cute.}

Peter stirs suddenly, his phone ringing loudly against the New York silence. Luckily, I had put his phone back in his pocket when he dropped it in the alley.

Without even checking the screen, Peter answers the call. "H'lo?" He asks carefully, his hands on my head.

His posture straightens, abdomen against the ridges of my spine. "Oh! Hi, Aunt May!" He says brightly.

Through the static on the line, I hear his Aunt's response. "Don't you 'hi, Aunt May' me, Peter Benjamin Parker." She chides in a way that suggests she isn't really mad.

The guilt flows off Peter in waves, though. "'M sorry. These past few days have been… hectic. It started off -"

"Oh, I know how it started off." Aunt May says deliberately, and Peter pauses. "You hadn't been calling me like you always do each night."

{Aww.}

"So I called Mr. Stark." She continues.

Peter swallows hard, fidgeting with the drawstring of my hoodie. "Oh?" His voice tapers off into something high and questioning.

"Oh, yes. Apparently you were the target in a shooting at Stark Tower? And the lovely mercenary man hired to protect you was thankfully in the lobby, and he shielded you." She says with disbelief.

"I know." Peter says remorsefully.

"He shielded you with his body." She stresses.

"I know, I was under it." Peter says flatly, and I bark out a laugh, clamping a hand over my mouth right before Peter does the same. Like the spider he is, he climbs effortlessly from my back to my shoulders, light and lean. I take it in stride, chuckling before holding his thighs.

"Oh, don't give me sass, Peter. I'm too old." Aunt May reprimands sharply, but she laughs. And then Peter's laughing with relief too, airy and light.

"Are you alright, dear?" She asks, her voice soft and worried. Peter sighs, and sympathy envelopes me while something sadder, more nostalgic, wraps around Peter.

"Yeah. I'm alright, sure." Peter says, and he tries to sound uplifting. He really does. He has a lilt to his voice that attempts happiness. But it comes out soft and sad, his throat rasped with secrets he simply can't tell anyone. If Aunt May is as amazing as Peter has said, she definitely knows he's lying.

I rub his thigh comfortingly, but that's all I can do.

[Tell him you know his secret so you can make him feel at least a little relief!]

{No! Wait!}

"You know what, dear? You should invite the man protecting you over for dinner!"

Peter stills. I still. I can't go out and talk to people. Especially his aunt. I - well. I'm revolting most of the time.

"I - Aunt May, I dunno." Peter says hesitantly, glancing at me.

"But he saved your life! And Mr. Stark made him seem so interesting, so versed!" She continues.

"It's true," I whisper. "Mercenaries have worldly training beyond compare. I know, like, thirty languages." Peter flexes his thighs at this, which I assume is some acrobat code for shut up.

"Well, it's just that Wade doesn't really like going out much. He's more the strong and silent sort of guy, y'know?" Peter lies his beautiful ass off.

"Peter." Aunt May says.

"Yes." He croaks.

"Are you on a first-name basis with this mercenary man?" She asks, her voice high and knowing, and I can practically hear her smile.

"Oh, shit, she's good!" I hiss, and Peter whacks my head with not nearly his full strength.

In response, I jump slightly, hefting him up more around my neck. Peter makes a short pained sound in the back of his throat before clenching his teeth. "Do you remember the six-foot-five man who kneed me there an hour ago?" Peter whispers shrilly, and I snort a laugh.

He leans forward over my left shoulder, letting his body go completely lax as he braces one hand on my left hip, the other on my waist. He flips himself off of me smoothly, practically scaling down my body. He lands lightly on his toes beside me, walking by my side.

All in four seconds.

Hhhh.

[Can you IMAGINE the possible positions he could -]

{Mmh.}

And finally a training partner, and partner in general, who can match me equally. Some who can play an ultimate game of tag and hide-and-seek.

Spider-Monkey.

"Uh, well, he told me his name, and we - he -"

"Where is he staying, dear?" She hums.

"With me. Together. Together with me." Peter blurts.

"And he's your friend?" She asks.

"Well, I - y'see, Aunt May -" Peter struggles.

"Is he kind?" She asks.

"Yes."

"Is he respectful?"

"To people who deserve it, yes."

"Good. Is he respectful of you?" She questions, and Peter's entire frame stiffens, his eyes shutting briefly.

"He is. Very much so." Peter promises.

What was that? What happened to him just now? Was that weird response because of his nightmare, or because of something else?

[Maybe you're not the only one with a fucked past.]

"Does he make you smile?" Aunt May continues.

Peter laughs then, covering his mouth and nudging my shoulder. "Yeah."

"Lovely! Invite your friend over for dinner on Sunday! Unless he goes to church on Sundays?" She asks, and Peter furrows his brows as he turns to me. "Do you, uh, go to church?"

"What's God done for me?" I shrug, and Peter grins.

"Uh, alright. Sunday works, I guess."

"Perfect. I'll be off to bed now, dear. I'm glad you're doing okay, Peter." She says softly.

"Yeah, I - me too."

"I love you, dear. Get some sleep. And eat something!"

"I love you, too. Bye." Peter laughs lightly.

And then Peter tucks his phone away, turning to me.

"How do you feel about meeting my very gracious Aunt?" Peter asks tentatively.

[She'll hate you!]

{How do you expect her to eat with your mug around?}

[It's a miracle Peter's fine with you - don't push it.}

"Uh…" I stammer. "Peter, I don't want to give your aunt a heart attack. Bless your pretty little heart, but this face isn't'meeting the family' material." I mutter.

Peter's brows knit, mouth parted as he thinks of what to say. He's trying so hard. For me.

"It's just her. It's just me and her left." Peter says quietly, rain matting his hair to his forehead as he looks up at me.

{Aw shit.}

"My Aunt is like no person I've ever met. You heard the phone call; she doesn't care about what you look like. And I like your mug."

[You're gonna kill his dear old auntie.]

{What kind of horrible, sick fuck would knowingly kill an old lady-}

"You can keep your mask on. If you wanna. She won't care either way." Peter adds.

"If you're sure." I resign, and Peter beams, throwing his arms around me. "I'm pretty sure she already likes you, 'cause she knows you saved me. And we can leave whenever you're not comfortable."

I cup the back of his head, hugging him back tightly. "I'm better with parent figures than you think, Petey Boy." I chuckle. "If they get past the mug, I'm not half bad with 'em."

With that, we arrive at the front door of Peter's apartment building, he unlocks the door with shaking fingers, shivering from the cold rain and the wet clothes enveloping him.

Upstairs, Peter makes a pitiful sounds in his apartment. "D'you hear that, Wade?"

I frown.

"Exactly. That's my heater. Not on." He sighs, shutting the door behind him.

The lights are off, the moon and various streetlights illuminating the room in a muted, soft glow, casting lazy strips of light across the living room. The windows rattle against the onslaught of rain pattering against them, and wind howls vehemently.

I saunter up to the windows after kicking my wet shoes off near the door, examining the buildings surrounding us and the vacant streets below before letting my guard down.

"Ah, damn," Peter mutters, pulling off his wet sweater and working on the fly of his jeans, "Did your go-bag get wet?" He asks, and I can tell he's already mentally mapping out all his clothes that may fit me.

I hold it up for him to look. "Waterproof, Baby Boy." Peter grins, nodding his head and peeling off soaking jeans. He winces uncomfortably, gathering up his clothes in his hands and hanging them over his desk chair to dry. He then scurries to his bedroom, returning with towels for us. I take my hoodie off and swing it over the same chair, torso left exposed.

Peter doesn't even blink at the scars.

"Yeah, I sure hope your clothes aren't wet, 'cause you've got more muscle than my clothes will fit." He says before drying off his hair, towel draped over his head in a haphazard pile, covering his face partly.

[Cuteeee. Fuck.]

Peter sets his phone to charge, buzzing around the small apartment and wiping water droplets off his camera, fidgeting with the thermostat.

I touch his arm when he passes me for a third time, and he jumps, turning and focusing on me.

"How you holding up?" I ask him, pulling the towel off his head and draping it over his wet shoulders, using the ends to wipe at water on his cheeks and the tips of his hair.

Peter looks up at me dejectedly, nudging against the towel. "I - I didn't like -" He stammers, breath short. "I was scared."

"I know." I hum, unfolding the towel and wrapping it around his shuddering frame, holding the ends tight.

"It's hard not to be scared." Peter says, and I finally understand why he's always so skittish and awkward when he shares his feelings.

It's because he never shares them.

I almost feel bad for continuing to pretend I don't know that he's Spider-Man. His aunt is his only family, and he certainly can't tell her, and the Avengers are out of the question for emotional confidentiality, unless he wants them to know his identity. And, out of everyone, he trusts me?

{I am just as surprised as you, Big Guy.}

"I know." I breathe, brushing locks of hair away from his forehead.

"It's okay to be scared. It's what you do with it that matters. And you did so good today, Peter." I reassure, and he already looks soothed by this.

[Praise kink, anyone?]

"When fights get personal, it's bound to make you scared. That was a scary thing." I agree. "Hell, you handled it better than I would've." Peter laughs half-heartedly.

I cup his face lightly with my hands. "We're going to make those sorry dicktwitches regret ever going after you." I promise, and Peter smiles down between us.

"But for now," I say, "go take a hot shower. You're skin is freezing, and you're still shivering." I note, pressing a kiss to his forehead before turning him in the direction of the bathroom. "And dress warm! None of that undies bullshit! You'll get sick!" I call to him. He giggles.

Can he even get sick? To what extent does his healing factor help him?

When the shower faucets groan to life, water hitting tiled floor, I fully undress and put on my own pair of clothes. Finally, in my dry hoodie and sweats, I take a breath and gather all of Peter's blankets that I can find.

"Time to build the best fuckin' fort in the entire world. 'Cause Peter looks like a fort kind of boy, and they make everyone cozy."

{This is so gay.}

[Mh.]

Notes:

hope you liked that, my dudes.  
the next chapter will have even MORE fluff AND some hot stuff, WHICH BRINGS UP someone very important that helps the plot. there was a tiny mention of it in this chapter. let me know if anyone caught it.

Hint: Does the name Skip ring a bell to any of my Spidey fans?

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Chapter 16: Forts and Magic.

Notes:

fluff! lots of fluff! also some soft smut!  
and cute cute romance and adorable things  
there's also a brief and vague mention of Skip in this chapter, also…  
LISTEN TO EDGE OF THE DARK BY ARMON JAY WHEN PETER ENTERS THE ROOM AFTER HIS SHOWER! I listened to that song while I wrote that bit and it's cute!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

PETER PARKER

I pull my shirt off carelessly, stepping out of my jeans and dropping them in a crumpled heap on the floor. I turn the shower faucet on without thought, leaving the cold faucet untouched. The shower comes to life with a pitiful squeal, and then hot water is peppering the linoleum floor of the tub.

I wait for the water temperature to adjust, stepping out of my boxer briefs and dropping them on top of the rest of my clothes. Now that I'm not distracted and the adrenaline has worn off, the dull pain in my lower belly and abdomen is uncomfortable, though I know all injury will heal by morning. The mirror calls out tauntingly to me as I pass it, and I freeze, doubling back.

I swipe a hand across the wet bathroom mirror, narrowing my eyes at the foggy glass. I stand back, staring blankly at my naked reflection.

My mess of dark hair is already curling at the nape of my neck from the steam, a stark contrast against my fair skin. My lips are dark, bottom lip split and still a bit bloody from where I got punched on the train. The bruise on my temple is already a nebulous purple, fading fast. The glass wound on my waist are just reddish cuts, healed over. Dark crescents find homes under my eyes. A sprawling red and purple bruise blossoms on my abdomen, under my left pectoral.

I peer lower in the mirror, and instantly regret it. "Ah, hell. Why. Why?" I plead, wincing dejectedly.

Angry bruises take shelter between my thighs and over my pelvic muscles and groin, from where the man kneed me. Tentatively, I prod at the bruises, and immediately bite down my cry, a shrill sound climbing its way out of my throat. "Fuckin' piece of shit." I mutter.

I turn away from the mirror, resolving and unclipping the two web-shooters from my wrists. They look exactly like normal black bracelets, tight metal sheathing bound in leather to look casual, when really, they're just modified web-shooters I can wear in an emergency. I set them on top of my clothes.

Stepping into the shower, my tendons scream in protest against the scalding water pelting them, working out knots and strains from the fight, and a hiss of pain escapes me as I roll my shoulders. Steam fills the entire shower, but my I can tell my skin is pink now.

Beads of torrid water stream down my ducked head, down my sternum, a sluice against the plane of my back and thighs. Lamentably, it occurs to me that these past few years have been so entirely molded from heartache that the small comfort of soothed joints feels foreign and odd.

But good.

I shudder, ducking my head as the the feverous water envelops me, soothing painful muscles and tired joints. A heavy, ragged exhale escapes me, my eyes fluttering shut on their own accord. If I were normal, I'd have minor burns because of the burning water and steam. But, to me, this is just enough to feel something . The water scalds me in a way that I don't mind, face flushed and body tinged pink as the water work out kinks and soreness.

I take greedy breaths of warm steam, wishing the water to cleanse my torments, to expel the anguish and the fear and the energy. The water strips away all the physical grime of my emotions. The ripples cascading down my ribs carry my stress, and the water dripping from my jaw carries all the times I'd wished I could scream into the night sky. The water racing down the V of my abdomen carry my fear, and the water sluicing down my shoulder blades hold the tension my muscles build with each hit. All of that, water, saturated with my struggles, become lost down the drain.

And, still, I wouldn't have been able to endure the day if not for Wade.

I wash myself quickly, tiredly. I pick up a plain shampoo bottle from the little shelf embedded in the shower wall, snapping the cap open with the push of my thumb, my head tipped up as I scrub it through my scalp. I grab body wash, running the smooth soap down the expanse of my body until I'm slick with it. It's a dulcet scent, very faint vanilla and lavender. Anything stronger risks sensory overload or a horrible migraine when my senses are heightened. I stand with shut eyes as the water washes away all traces of soap, carding my hair back and away from my face.

I finally turn off the tap when the water begins running cold.

I pull back the curtain quickly, steam filling the bathroom, a rush of cool air hitting my body, goosebumps settling over my skin. "Perky." I mutter, huffing out a weak laugh at my own jeer.

Good one, Peter. Nerd. Spider-Man wouldn't make fun of nipples in the cold.

Wait, no. Yes, he would. I would.

I dry off carelessly before wrapping a fluffy blue towel around my waist, grabbing my clothes pile and opening the door with a rush of steam.

"Shitfuck!" Wade promptly stands up, rushing to the doorway and blocking my view of the living room. I stare, eyes wide and hand clutching my towel's tucked corner tightly as Wade tries to take up as much space as possible. He has his own pants on now, a pair of cuffed gray sweatpants and a dark black t-shirt that clings to his frame.

"Hello, Baby Boy." Wade purrs, looking me up and down, a warm, interested expression in his blue eyes. "You're just about the prettiest thing I've ever seen." Warmth pools in my belly and I grin, ducking my head. Slowly, so I can move away if I want, his finger trails a water droplet sliding down my abdomen, before catching it at my navel. I shudder, looking up at him.

He seems to remember something now, because he stands up straighter again in the doorway, taking up more space.

"Well! Anyway! Go, shoo! Get dressed!" He says loudly, a bit excitedly, and I jolt, my brows furrowed as I try to figure out what he's doing.

I peer to the left, and his body moves with me. I sigh, looking through the other side, and Wade's body covers my view again with a breathless laugh and a shrug.

"I'll climb over you." I threaten, a playful edge to my voice.

"Not in that towel, you won't. But, by all means, try." Wade hums, tugging on the towel loosely.

I think about it. I really do.

"C'mon," Wade goads. "Try. Let's see how that towel holds up with you pulling some Spider-Man flips." He playfully tugs on the knot of the towel that hangs low on my hips, not strong enough to pull it off; gentle, in fact. I freeze at the mention of Spider-Man, but I know it wasn't anything to be worried about. "Either way, it'll be a sight to see." Wade practically growls it.

I know his personality well enough to know that he's just instigating - he's just egging me on because he knows it'll convince me to go back into my room.

"Fine." I say, satisfying him, a ghost of a smile on my lips. I turn around, walking into my bedroom.

My back turned to him, I let the towel slip off before the door closes completely.

"Oh, heaven is real. Sweet jesus - wait, hey, that was uncalled for!" Wade nearly shrieks.

"I don't like surprises!" I yell as means of explanation, stifling my giggle.

I hear rummaging in the living room as I put on underwear, followed by Wade's remark. "You'll like this surprise. But, anyway, so you try to foil my surprise by showing me two seconds of that pretty ass of yours?" Wade shouts. "Because, really, Baby Boy, that was the most spectacular thing I've ever had the brief pleasure of seeing. Not to hypersexualize you, or anything like that. I'd never do that." Wade says seriously, and I smile to myself at his sincerity.

He's rambling about Tony's crush on Bruce from the living room, myself chuckling occasionally at all the examples of their romance Wade is recounting for me. I smile endearingly, poking my head out cautiously to see him hunched over a large thing I can't see. I duck back inside before he can see me.

I clip on the web-shooter bracelets before brushing my hair, although it's already beginning to curl.

Finally I open the door again in black joggers and a loose tank top, and Wade adapts to my door swinging open, jumping up from the ground and holding his arms up to the scene in front of him, cutting himself off. "Surprise!"

My mouth parts, looking at the scene around me with awe, a breathless grin breaking out into my face.

There I stand in the center of the room, eyes bright with whimsy as Wade watches me expectantly.

My entire living room, as small as it is, has been transformed into an ethereal place. All the lights are off except for fairy lights I had hung when I first moved in, lining the walls in uneven cords, illuminating the room in a muted glow. They flicker against the cream walls occasionally in subtle variations of gold and yellow. My sofa and loveseat are no longer such things, as three blankets have been draped across them, floral patterns and quilted swatches bathed in warm lights, forming a sprawling fort.

A fort!

A thrilled laugh bubbles up, a hand covering my mouth in excitement.

The blankets are propped up high over the sofa's back and a chair for height, stretching over the front of the sofa and draping over the coffee table. The fort itself is a chaotic thing, like the man beside me. It is a grand, patchwork mess, with dipping points and surprising heights, but soft and warm and structured. Blankets have been hung in such a way that they form a flap for a door, and cushions coat the hardwood floor inside, blankets tented high enough so that we can easily sit down inside. The back of the fort is against the foot space of the couch, so that there's cushioning at all angles.

Inside the tent, at its entrance, is a lantern.

Except, I don't own a lantern.

Upon peering closer, I realize the makeshift lantern is a glowing coffee mug on the plush floor. Wade had removed a cord of fairy lights from the wall and coiled it into the mug, a stunning gentle glow emitting from the cracked black mug. With glowing cheeks I smile widely, the storybook image of lightning bugs flitting through my mind.

I laugh delightedly, my cheeks rosy with excitement as I bring my attention to Wade.

"I - why?" I stammer softly, eyes glistening at the scene before me.

"Forts make everyone happier. At least for a little. They make you feel safe." Wade explains, fidgeting with his fingers.

"You… So, you did this all just to make me happy?" I gesture widely with my arm at the luminous scene around me, enveloping me in a warm and glowing embrace.

"Of course." Wade says, as if confused by my question, his blue eyes softer now in the warm light.

I close the distance between us and throw myself into his arms. Wade seems surprised at first, his fingertips ghosting my spine, until he holds me tight, his nose atop my damp hair, strong hands against my back. "Thank you." I breathe.

"'S my pleasure." Wade mutters, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. "Now, you're gonna get your pretty little butt into that fort, and you're gonna feel better. I can feel it in my loins." Wade assures, and I laugh against his chest.

We separate, and Wade holds the blanket flap open so I can crawl inside, Wade following behind me. The inside is rather spacious; with enough room to sit up straight and stretch if we so need. The blankets and pillows blocking out the rain outside until it becomes a mere patter against the window panes. In front of me is my DS, and in front of Wade is a DS that must be his.

"Peter," Wade says softly, looking at me with sincere blue eyes. I stifle my fond giggle at the absurdity of this; Wade, resembling a downtrodden puppy with nebulous skin and dark clothes, surrounded by soft warm colors and lights.

He is wonderful.

"Peter," he continues, "will you do me the honor of racing me in Mario Kart?" He asks, taking my DS and kneeling on one knee, holding it out to me.

I laugh gleefully, nodding. "Of course." I say, and he smiles.

"Okay, but I'm Princess Daisy." Wade warns, and we lean back against the sofa on the floor, laughing and playing.

After several minutes, we both have indents in our palms from the corner of the DS. I won the first two rounds, to Wade's chagrin.

"I'm gonna win it all with this last round, you'll see. Look, it's Rainbow Road!" He exclaims excitedly, my head against his shoulder and our legs entangled.

"It's the gayest of all the roads, Peter."

"Explains why all the characters die on that round." I huff, and Wade oohs at my statement, hissing as if something burns. "Too real." He tsks. "But good job calling out shows that use queer people as plot devices! Fight the power." He grins, smacking a kiss to my cheek.

Sure enough, Wade beats me on the last round, myself tailing him in second place. "Pure luck." I scoff, and Wade nudges my shoulder. "You a sore loser, Baby Boy?' Wade asks smugly, and I scrunch up my nose. "No." I gibe.

"You sure?" He sing-songs. "'Cause that's a pretty grumpy pout on your face." He says knowingly, and I scrunch my nose indignantly.

"No 's not." I mutter, closing the DS altogether, and Wade gasps, his hands to his chest. "My pouty little prince." He says, eyes wide with a knowing grin. "You are a sore loser! At least with video games."

"Am not." I argue, "I was just distracted, is all." I lie.

"Liar, liar, form-fitting pants on fire." Wade says matter-of-factly, and I raise a brow.

"Alright, alright." Wade resigns, a certain edge to his voice that I'm unsure of. "You ticklish?" Wade asks, off topic.

I tense. I am very ticklish. But, I know that tactic. That's the oldest tactic in the book; you ask if someone's ticklish all innocently, and then go to town on them.

If I accidentally kick him when he's tickling me, he could break a bone. Or several.

"Definitely not." I splutter.

Great lying skills, Peter. Stellar performance.

"Oh, is that so?" Wade says, looking down at me.

I keep my lips pointedly shut, attempting to restrain my growing smile.

"Well, if you won't 'fess up, then I guess…" Wade pauses for dramatic effect, raising his hands over my stomach. "I guess the tickle monster's gonna tell me!" Wade roars, his hands soaring down onto me. My eyes widen in excitement, smile breaking into a laugh as I yelp.

At the positive reaction, Wade continues, tickling my sides, my ribs, under my arms. I suck in a breath as I fight through laughter, toppling to the soft pillowed floor. Wade chucks, crouching over me and straddling my thighs to get a better angle. His thighs straddling mine keep me in place, but we're both aware that I could get out of I wanted to.

"You're so squirmy!" Wade laughs, tickling my stomach as I laugh breathlessly, my abdomen hurting from laughter.

"Shut up," I say, cut off by my own laughter. My cheeks flush with excitement as I squirm under him half-heartedly, the lantern illuminating our laughing faces and reflecting off the soft fort walls.

My eyes are watering, I'm laughing so hard. Wade aims for my lower belly and sides - because somehow he's found nearly everywhere I'm ticklish. I arch my back, laughing infectiously as Wade laughs along with me; a soft, gleeful laugh that I wasn't expecting from him.

He moves to tickle my inner thighs, and I squeal, laughing loud and melodic as I swat at him weakly. "Oh, my god." I breathe, eyes squeezed shut and tears streaming from laughter now, attempting to scoot further up. "The thighs! The thighs and the belly are what gets you laughin'!" Wade exclaims proudly, endearing smile on his face as he continues his relentless tickling.

"W-Wade," I giggle, "I can hardly breathe," I say, cut off by another fit of laughter.

"So, just to get this straight," Wade concludes, "you are ticklish?" He questions smugly, a grin on his face as I slam a hand on the floor in resignation, tossing my head with cheery laughter. "Y-yes! Hah - Yes, you win!"

Wade finally stops, and my giggles ebb away until I'm left breathless, the occasional huff of residual laughter bubbling up.

Wade wipes the tears from my cheeks with a smile.

Finally, I slip out from under him, resting to sit between his thighs, my legs wrapped loosely around his wait. I lean back, arms behind me and fingers splayed on the fluffy cushions to prop me up.

"Feelin' better?"

"'Cause of you." I remind him, eyes bright as we watch each other lazily, light and airy and effortless. Wade looks entirely relaxed without his mask. After several moments, Wade rests calloused but careful hands on my thighs, pulling me closer to him.

I let him, watching him openly, curiously.

He seems to be full of loud thoughts for a moment before he slips a hand against my cheek, thumb brushed against my jaw, cupping the nape of my neck.

He looks at me with pride, in awe, astonishment, I don't know. I like it.

He pulls me close then, and we meet in a kiss, soft and chaste at first before pressing closer, kisses growing in want.

This progresses until we hardly pull our lips away. My hands are fisted in Wade's shirtfront, one of his splayed over the small of my back, the other still cupping my face.

He nips softly at my bottom lip and I make a keening sound, flushed hot. Wade croons, running his hands through my hair encouragingly at my responsiveness.

I press closer, and Wade lets one hand drop to the floor behind him to support us, the other against my back. I rake my fingers down his abdomen, smiling against his lips as he makes a soft sound. His fingers ghost over my spine, and I shudder, ducking my head and nosing against his neck as warmth pools in my belly.

His hands grip my thighs, pulling me closer still. Wade moves away from my lips, pressing trails of kisses against my cheek, my jaw, my neck, his lips greeting every nebulous beauty mark, warm breath dancing across the shell of my ear as I shudder, a soft breath escaping my as I lean into it. Peppered with affection. Wade hums pridefully against my neck and I scrape my nails delicately down his back.

If I was gripping something other than Wade right now, I would've surely broken it with my strength.

Too bad I didn't have my abilities a few years ago, I think, and it's the briefest thought, the idea of him flirting through the dark corners of my mind for only a millisecond . But I go still, begrudgingly pulling away from Wade slightly, heart rate threatening to hammer.

"W-wait." I say breathlessly, hands clutching the front of his shirt. Wade instantly pulls away, his lips off my body and hands no longer tracing my spine. He looks at me worriedly. For an instant he appears self-conscious before the idea is wiped from his mind, looking confused once more.

"You alright, Baby Boy?" He asks sincerely, cocking his head.

"I - it's not you." I stammer. "Like, it's really not you. You did nothing wrong. At all." I huff, pressing hands to my hot cheeks. Wade raises a brow curiously, proud but waiting for me to continue.

"I just - we were making out, and I got onto your lap, and I couldn't see your face. I couldn't see you for a minute when you were kissing my neck, and -" I groan in frustration, and Wade rubs his hand down my back in support, watching me with patience.

"I couldn't see who your were and it reminded me of something not-so-good. So, just -" I fidget with my fingers uncomfortably before looking up to him again. "Thanks for stopping, is all." I finish, and Wade's eyes sober in understanding. "Anytime, Petey." He promises.

He holds his arm out, and I scoot beside him, curling up against his side as he brings his arm down around me. "I wasn't ready to do anything more than what we were just doing anyway, in case you were thinkin' about it. And I'll always stop when you ask. Even if it's really, really, hot." He assures, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. I laugh, nudging against his chest. "Thanks. Me too."

He squeezes my shoulder in response. A mutual respect.

After a bubbly, calm silence, Wade seems to remember something. He reaches forward briefly, opening up the blanket flap of the fort's "door."

"Look." He says softly, nudging his head to the outside.

I pull my eyes away from him, and my mouth parts in awe for the second time tonight.

"When I was looking into the buildings near your place for security purposes, I found out that the billboard lights turn on at 9 every night." He says simply.

It's pitch black outside, my apartment bathed in a warm, subtle luminescence from the fairy lights, the lantern droning comfortingly between us.

Outside, against an apartment complex adjacent to mine, is a large billboard built onto the wall. In big neon blue letters, the phrase "DON'T WORRY" glows brightly and flickers soothingly, ebbing blue light filtering through the windows. It's a life insurance advertisement.

Soft blue light covers the both of us, and I smile widely. The message brings a resounding calm to me, reassurance settling over me like a warm blanket with Wade by my side. The notion that a billboard message makes me feel safe is an absurd thing in and of itself, especially because I'm Spider-Man. I should know better. But I do feel safe, regardless of how odd it is. Because the sign is a night light and Wade is strong and kind and soft . "This," I breathe, looking from him to the sign, "this isamazing. I - I - thank you." I wrap my arms round his chest and we watch the scene before us.

Night slowly drags on, with Wade running slow circles into my back as I practically melt against him, my cheek smushed against his chest. I'm warm and tired and content. "Wade?" I mumble tiredly, and Wade looks down to me, watching me sweetly. "'S up, hot stuff?" He asks.

"How'd you get the fairy lights to work? They've been busted for a year." I ask, and Wade chuckles. "Magic." He says simply, wistfully, and I glance up at him.

"Nah; Have you tried knocking the battery pack violently against your palm a few times?" He hums, and I bark out a laugh.

We fall asleep sometime after, glowing patterns dancing across our faces at each flicker of the soft lights.

Notes:

THIS IS MY FAVORITE CHAPTER I'VE WRITTEN YET I'M SO PROUD.  
LEAVE COMMENTS AND TELL ME HOW YOU LIKED THIS CHAPTER!  
there was a brief mention of Skip in this chap (which is what caused Peter to ask Wade to stop), and Skip will make an appearance sometime later...  
INSTAGRAM: &  
TUMBLR: scruffydun

(also, sorry for removing this chapter a few hours ago! i wrote the majority of it late at night, and when i re-read it, i found tyops and silly errors, so i took it down to fix it up a bit)

Chapter 17: Patrol.

Notes:

i'm really proud of this chapter. and! new character introduction!  
also, poor petey gets roughed up a bit :/

AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, IN THIS CHAPTER, I'VE INCLUDED A SKETCH OF PETER'S APARTMENT THAT I DID. I HOPE IT HELPS YOU VISUALISE WHAT I DO :))

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

PETER PARKER

I wake up slowly, lazily, hazy glowing light and warm arms drawing me back into the vastness of sleep several times.

I finally startle awake at one in the morning. I mentally berate myself. I was supposed to go patrolling tonight. Now I'll only have a few hours at most.

I'm in my bed. Wade must have carried me inside at some point. He's sleeping beside me. I have no doubt that Wade started us out on our respectable sides of the bed, because Wade is all the way on the left, giving me more than enough space - I'm the one with my face buried in his chest and my leg notched between his. His arm is slung over me and dappled moonlight filters in through my window. At my movement, Wade pulls me gently back against him, shushing me in his sleep.

He must think I woke up over a nightmare. My heart swells with warmth at the sentiment, and I find myself resting against his chest for several more moments. I'm enveloped in his arms, senses filled merely with the reassuring constant of his steady heartbeat. My body rises and falls above him with each breath he takes. I tentatively reach past the sound of his heart to find that it is no longer raining.

Wade looks peaceful in his sleep, his face slack and eyes shut serenely. His lips are parted slightly, soft puffs of breath hitting the top of my head. His body is lax and his eyes aren't cautioned. In his sleep, he isn't burdened with consciousness of his body waging war on him.

He looks much calmer, more free.

After countless seconds, I pull myself away from Wade, holding my breath as I pause over him, trying to maneuver myself out of his grip. Wade certainly looks like a heavy sleeper, but he's a highly trained mercenary and ex-military personnel, and I have no doubt that he'll wake up instantly if he hears even the slightest disturbance.

How do I do this without waking him?

I begin with simply rolling over, so that my back is against him instead. I stay like this for several moments, so Wade will think I purely became restless in my sleep. His arm slips off of me, and after a minute, I'm sure he's still fast asleep.

I wait another moment in this position, thinking of the best way to actually get my suit and leave the room. My floors are old and creak with every step, even with my light stride. This means walking on the ground is a non-starter.

Okay, Peter, time to scratch that itch and use your powers. You have to climb the walls.

Slowly, abhorrently slow, I move into a crouching position on the bed. Wade rolls onto his back but his breaths remain paced and slow. I carefully stand on the bed, making sure not to shift my weight, and then I place my hands flat on the wall against the headboard. My grip is strong. I'm glad my walls are sturdy, or else I would never be able to crawl on them.

I glance at Wade, who smacks his lips in his sleep lazily. With light agility, I finally press my feet onto the wall. Wade remains lost to the world of sleep.

I slowly pad my way up the wall, relishing in the feeling of climbing, of doing the impossible.

I make my agonizingly slow crawl to the ceiling, mentally fuming at their impressive height . I very carefully move until I'm directly over the bed. My heart beats heavily with the pressure in the room, and I hold my breath as I push up one of the ceiling panels, sliding it over.

With Wade snoring softly, I stick my hand inside the removed panel, grappling blindly for my Spidey suit. "Ah, c'mon…" I plead silently, my hand groping around the crawl space in the ceiling.

My suit topples out suddenly, and I scramble to catch it, eyes wide. I shoot a web at the ceiling with my left hand and lunge down head-first, grabbing my suit with my right hand inches away from Wade's face. I hold my breath. My outstretched arm right clutches my suit for dear life above Wade, my other hand between my thighs suspending the web, legs bent on either side of the web.

"Oh my - god." I choke out. "Bad. So bad." I hiss. My tank top hangs down around my under arms, and I swing slightly from the momentum. Wade coos happily in his sleep, before stirring.

I immediately swing myself back up, pressing my stomach flush against the cold ceiling, my suit clenched between my teeth to keep it from falling again. My heart hammers in my chest and I turn my head to watch Wade cautiously.

He rolls over onto his back, shifting uncomfortably. I stay deathly still, holding my breath as Wade opens his eyes blearily. I'm almost sure Wade tiredly looks at me on the ceiling, my eyes wide and panicked, but then he makes a content sound in his throat, a lazy smile, before rolling over onto his stomach.

I narrow my eyes. Weird. His breathing is still steady and paced, and his heart's still beating in a slow sleep rhythm, but that was odd.

Wasting no more time, I swing myself onto the ground with light feet, flipping into the living room and landing softly beside the sofa. I close my bedroom door carefully and sigh shakily in relief.

In front of me, the makeshift lantern is still flickering comfortingly, and the fort is still standing strong. The dulcet blue lights of the DON'T WORRY life insurance billboard are still an odd comfort to me outside my window.

Snapping my focus away from the window, I strip out of my clothes with haste, wadding them up and draping them over the patchy sofa carelessly. I stumble out of my underwear (I chafe in the suit with them) and pull the spandex suit up my legs with ease, crouching with discomfort as I roll the suit up my thighs and waist. I slip my arms through, tug up the concealed partial zipper on my back, and slip on my mask. Finally, I unclip the casual bracelet web-shooters, and clip on my higher-grade ones for the suit.

Thanks to Tony Stark, my suit is entirely and precisely adjusted for my needs, skills, and strengths. It did, however, take a lot of demeaning pleading in my raggedy old suit, and about two weeks of him studying my abilities and weakness to perfect the suit, but that mess is a different story altogether.

The suit is light and aerodynamic. The boots attached to the suit are weightless and the soles are thin, so that my feet can still adhere tenaciously to surfaces. The eye plates become tinted the moment any remotely harsh light comes into my path, so that my senses don't go haywire. There's a sturdy but malleable athletic cup built into the fabric that doesn't affect my superior agility and flexibility. The web-shooters are black cuffs that wrap around my wrists, with a thin panel that extends slightly into my palm. By pressing the panel, webs shoot out at incredible speed. On an average person, the web-shooters would tear an arm clean off.

I sigh contentedly, grinning.

Before leaving, I grab my phone and swipe my tangled headphones off the table. I put on my Spidey playlist, which, yes, is admittedly lame. But if people can make playlists to go to work, I can damn well have a playlist for being Spider-Man. I tuck my phone into a skintight pocket by my waist and slip my headphones through my mask.

I saunter over to the window in my living room, pushing up and hopping out onto the fire escape. I climb up to the thirtieth floor, the very top, and push open the door to the roof.

I hop onto the ledge and immediately go into a dive roll to warm up, coming back up with a bright smile.

With arms outstretched at my sides and balancing on the tips of my toes, I drop from the sky.

As I plummet, wind roars against my ears, whipping against the front of my suit and embracing me as I drop from the top floor of my apartment building. I dive head-first, soaring past window after window against the indigo backdrop of the night sky.

Twenty-eighth floor.

My music starts playing. "I can ride my bike with no handlebars, no handlebars, no handlebars…" I grin delightedly.

I twist in the sky, arms tight at my sides to cut through the air.

"Look at me, look at me, hands in the air like it's good to be alive, and I'm a famous rapper, even when the paths are all crookedy."

Twenty-fourth floor.

" I can show you how to doe-see-doe. I can show you how to scratch a record. I can take apart the remote control, and I can almost put it back together."

I roll my wrists and ankles as I soar, stretching.

"I can keep rhythm with no metronome, no metronome, no metronome…" I hum along.

Eighteenth floor.

"Look at me, look at me. Just called to say that it's good to be alive in such a small world…"

It's cold today. Brisk late October air lashes against my cheeks and pricks my thighs through my suit.

Sixteenth floor.

"Movers, shakers, and producers, me and my friends understand the future. I see the strings that control the system. I can do anything with no resistance." I relish those lines, my chest filling with determined warmth.

I pass a man on the thirteenth floor sitting at a small table, eyes glassy as he stares blankly out his window, steaming coffee fisted in his hand and laptop in front of him. His tired eyes widen and his coffee trembles in his white-knuckled grip, and I blow him a blurry kiss through the window as I drop past him.

"Look at me, look at me, diving and I won't stop. And it feels so good to be alive and on top." The singer's voice crescendos strongly at the end of each sentence.

Sixth floor.

"My reach is global. My tower secure."

Fourth floor.

The hard cement is quickly being pulled up to meet me, the ground approaching with haste.

"My cause is noble. My power is pure."

Just as my face is feet away from the unforgiving ground, I shoot a web at a building across with me. I twist my body and curl my knees to my chest as I propel myself up, swinging towards the building and following the upward momentum with a wild smile.

"Woo!" I holler into the night sky, laughing giddily at my freeness as I arch my back and push myself forward, shooting another web at a building across from me.

"I can guide a missile by satellite, by satellite, by satellite. And I can hit a target through a telescope, through a telescope, through a telescope." The song roars with a rallying cry of great expectations and infinite possibilities. These lines speak novels about great power and choosing to channel it for the greater good, not for destruction. Between webs, I flip in the air, plummeting low enough to wave at several passersby before shooting another web and rocketing into the sky again.

The song ends the same way it started, several other songs taking its place, and I finally swing down low before hopping lightly onto the ground in front of my favorite Chinese food joint several blocks away from my apartment, near Hell's Kitchen.

I learned early on, when I was perhaps sixteen, this this restaurant is open 24/7. I push the door open to the welcoming chime of the bell, and a portly old man behind the counter smiles brightly at me. Warmth caresses my face as I step out of the harsh October air. I had intervened when he and his wife were being threatened with deportation, courtesy of a mob boss who wanted to assert his authority. Since then, this restaurant has become sort of a safe haven for me.

Not to mention, I've hidden here on more than one occasion. Mister Wu is surprisingly calm under pressure and has an impressive first aid kit.

"Mister Spider-Man! Hello!"

"Hi, Mister Wu, how are you?" I approach the counter, the restaurant vacant except for a very wide-eyed man who reeks of pot, watching me incredulously with a fork full of fried rice near his mouth.

"Good, good! The usual?"

"Yessir. Please." I smile under my mask.

While Mister Wu shuffles away into the kitchen, I idle around the homely restaurant, tinkering with soy sauce containers. To my left, on the wall with the lunch specials, is a grainy photo of Mister Wu and myself. It was three years ago, and I was hanging upside down from the roof with my mask rolled up to my nose, biting down goofily on chopsticks, a toothy grin on my face. Beside me was Mister Wu, smiling cheerily right-side-up, his arm outstretched out of frame to take the picture.

Besides that picture is an older picture, of a man who I believe is Ryan Reynolds, winking into the camera and holding up a to-go container of an unrecognizable dish. In the background, sprinting past the door of the restaurant, is a blurry image ofsomeone in a red and black suit that I can only imagine is Deadpool from several years ago.

On the opposite wall is a photo of me in my suit from only a few months ago in January. It's a crisper, clearer image, my back against the wall and my legs sprawled out in front of the chair I was weakly sitting on. A scarf was draped over the back of my chair. My elbow was propped on the corner of the table, my head in my hand. I had an icepack to my temple, and bloody knees that were already scabbing. The entire left side of my suit was torn, angry red skin underneath. I can still remember how it burned and stung. Despite this, my mask was once again rolled up to my nose, and my tongue was out, giving the camera a thumbs-up. Steaming soup sat half finished on the table in front of me. I remember that I had an ice cube in my mouth after I had gotten punched in the jaw, a blossoming purple mess on my cheek, my lips wet with melting water that I was too tired to wipe away.

Later that night, I remember that I had to beg Stark to remake my suit within a week. He begrudgingly complied, and gave it back to me with completely reinforced material, impervious to light to moderate scratches, lashes, and gashes, as Stark told me. Once I began interning for him as Peter Parker, it got increasingly difficult asking him to fix my suit - he knew my voice, my height, my gait and body frame, my habits. Soon enough, he would realize Spider-Man's mannerisms and measurements were exactly the same as Peter Parker's. So, I go to him as Spider-Man much more infrequently now, so he doesn't catch on.

"Hey, my dude." A lazy but curious voice calls to me.

I blink out of my reverie, turning to the stoner sitting at a single table.

"Yeah?" I turn toward him, head cocked.

"Are you, like... legit?" He asks me, and a crooked smile ghosts my lips.

"Well, yeah, man." I say with a huff of laughter. "At least, I think so." I ponder. "Does this look like me?" I ask, and shoot a web at the picture of me on the wall nearest his head, and his eyes widen as he whips around to peer at the picture, turning to me incredulously.

He nods vigorously. "Yeah. Yeah, it does look like you."

"Cool, cool. I'm legit." I assure, and he smiles wide, a pleasant and dopey look on his face.

"Mister Spider-Man!" Mister Wu calls, and I graciously take the styrofoam take-out container from him, full of heaping Lo Mein noodles. I thank him, folding my mask up to my nose once again.

I hand him money that he denies, nudging my hand away, but I put it in the tip jar when he turns away.

"Mind if I eat on your roof?" I ask, and he laughs at me.

"Go ahead." He chuckles again, swiping a rag across the counter.

"Is this a prank?" I question, smiling confusedly.

"No! No, by all means, eat on the roof. I know how you like your heights. It's just that, you were the second person to ask me that today." He says, laughing again at the absurd coincidence, and he saunters back into the kitchen humming airily.

I stand tall in the middle of the quaint, sticky restaurant, frowning at his words, food container secure in my hands. A wary tension settles over me, and I exit the restaurant, making my way to the roof.

I hold the food in one hand and press my fingers against the chipping wall of the restaurant, testing its strength before climbing up deftly. I swing up onto the roof and immediately peer around the usually vacant space.

The ledges of the roof are empty, where I usually sit, and so is most of the vacant space towards the middle of the roof. However, a slight tingle down my spine tells me that while I'm not in danger, I'm also not alone.

I finally look between two old air vents, to see a dark figure idly eating out of a fried rice container, chopsticks flitting between his fingers with boredom. While I can see better than other humans in the dark, this figure is still shrouded by shadows.

So long to my nice empty roof, I think dejectedly, before making the most of this and assessing the situation.

"Is this a date?" I ask delightedly. "I would've worn something nicer!"

"Oh, that's alright. You look perfect to me. Being blind leaves a lot to the imagination." The man chuckles, standing up with a grin, and my eyes widen excitedly.

"Daredevil!" I beam, setting my food down and sprinting over towards the center of the roof. He holds his arms out for a hug and I run into him, clapping him on the back. He laughs, clasping the back of my head before letting go.

Ever since we had teamed up to help the Avengers with an alien mob boss two years ago, Daredevil and I have been on good terms. Since then, we've teamed up more than once on small-scale crimes, and we've had many planned and unplanned dinner outings.

"How've you been?" He asks me.

"I - well, pretty good, I guess. You?"

"Same old." He shrugs. "You know the deal."

The conversation is relaxed and comfortable, our feet swinging from the roof as we nurse our food languidly, night dragging on around us.

"Is there any reason why you've reeked of anxiety since you got here?" Daredevil asks me suddenly, and I stick my chopsticks into the container, turning to him.

"Have you been sniffing me with your crazy blind person senses?" I ask lightly.

"No, you've been leaking your emotions all over the place and I've been near you." He says, his smile almost audible. "Penny for your thoughts?"

I hesitate at first, something that he no doubt picks up on, before beginning.

"Do you know of any active organizations currently trying to kidnap mutants, mutates, or anyone associated with them for genetic experimentation purposes?" I ask bluntly.

Daredevil seems taken aback, but sobers quickly. "I don't know what you're getting into, but people like that are dangerous, kid."

"I know!" I hiss. "I - I know that." I mutter, picking at my suit.

After some silence, Daredevil turns slightly to me. "Want to explain?" He adds.

"I've found myself in a… compromising situation involving one of these organizations, I think. Except, they've been targeting me in my normal life. You know, out of the suit…" I start, and Daredevil nods, humming. "So, now I don't know if they know my Spider-Man identity, or if they want regular me because they think I'm associated with someone else." At this, Daredevil sighs, scrubbing his hand under the scruffy shadow on his chin.

"I… I can't tell you anymore without completely outing myself, but I told you most of the important stuff, I guess." I finish, poking at my nearly finished food.

"And you did nothing to instigate this? This just… happened?" Daredevil asks.

"My internship may have put me at more of a risk at being noticed by those people, but I didn't do anything to instigate it." I assure him.

"The wouldn't waste their time on someone who they thought was entirely human. They must know something, at least." Daredevil grumbles. "These people don't mess around. They will play dirty, they will play disgusting-"

"They already have." My voice breaks.

Daredevil pauses. "I'm sorry." His voice is low and gravelly with apology.

"'S okay." I shrug. "This'll only end badly for them."

Daredevil smiles at that. "Good attitude. But, here, listen, as far as my knowledge about organizations like this, I only know of Weapon X, and I'm not sure how strong they are anymore. I suggest looking smaller, more underground. They'll have people all over the place. Follow your instincts, I know you have that weird sense thing that you can do." Daredevil waves in my general direction and I laugh weakly.

"Thanks."

"Yeah. Sorry I couldn't help more. But keep your head down when you're being a civilian. Don't go anywhere you normally wouldn't, don't do anything that would make you look suspicious. Follow any leads you have. I'm assuming you've had altercations with the people after you already?" He ask me, and I nod before remembering and stammering out a yes.

He smiles wryly, in a way that makes me think he knows I nodded. "This may not sound smart, but stick to your routine. If they're really stalking you, they'll be following you. That means that you can hopefully intercept one of them again and take them to someone who can help you." He says.

I don't tell him that we've already done this, and that Natasha is probably interrogating that man as we speak. As for the woman Wade left on the subway, well, I'm sure I'll see her again.

"Thank you."

"Of course. And, hey, if you happen to get one of them in custody, don't underestimate the power of a good lawyer." Daredevil suggests with a lilt to his voice that I can't quite place. "If you start a legal case against them, it'll threaten their entire organization." He suggests, and I store his advice in the back of my mind for later.

"Everything will work out in the end, kid. Just have some faith." He says softly, playfully punching my shoulder. I'm not sure of his life as a civilian, but with me, his voice is always helpful and reassuring, always seeing the best in a situation but still offering advice to resolve the issue. His friendly yet careful nature always sets me on ease, and I've found he's rather good at doling out support. As much as he jokes, he almost exudes a parental-like behavior under his snarky behavior. I wonder what life he leads when he's not a vigilante.

"Hey, really, thanks a lot for everything that you -" Daredevil suddenly goes very stiff, which makes me pause. A shudder runs up my spine.

"Did you hear that?" He asks me.

"No, but I can walk on walls, so we all have our thing." I say flippantly, shrugging, but my senses are on high alert.

"It was someone getting pistol-whipped." Daredevil tells me. "Three blocks down. At the bank on the corner."

Daredevil pauses again, sighing. "Something else. There's a gang robbery at least four blocks in the other direction…" He says slowly, cocking his head as he listens.

"Which one do you wanna take?" I ask, smiling as I roll my mask back down over my face.

"I'll take the bank, you take the alley." He says, rolling his shoulders. "You know, kid, as much as these jobs get our asses kicked, I'm glad I am who I am. I hope you are, too, despite the challenges you face." He says to me, and I smile crookedly at him. "Yeah, I - yeah, I'm glad to be Spider-Man." I say with pride.

Daredevil nods, clapping me on the shoulder before he flips off the roof. Now, he's explained how his blindness works to me before, with the deep red heat vision that helps him place objects and outlines of people, but I'm still surprised at the ease he does everything with.

"Hey, before you go," I call, and Daredevil stops, turning to look up towards the roof. "How do you always know it's me when we run into each other?" I ask, and he smiles kindly, though his masked eyes and the devil horns on his forehead send a chill through me despite his friendly demeanor.

"Everyone's pulse beats just a little bit different from each other. I can hear it." He says, and runs towards the bank.

With that, I grab our food containers, hop down from the roof, and poke my head into Mister Wu's restaurant again, tossing them in the trash before sprinting away in the direction of the alley.

Three storefronts away, I can already hear the commotion; a woman screaming, a young boy crying out angrily, several men laughing darkly, cockily.

I skip surely into the gritty alleyway, pausing abruptly in front of the scene, the men pausing at the spectacle.

"Huh…" I frown, peering out on either side of the alley in mock confusion. "Well, this isn't Denny's." I sigh, and the men look around at each other incredulously, two out of six still gripping tightly onto the woman and boy, who can't be more than five.

"Get outta here, fag. This doesn't have shit to do with your fake ass."

Ouch.

"Hey! Rude! That's a slur!" I accuse. "And, that's funny. I didn't know my ass was fake. I've been doing squats…" I pout, and shoot a web at the man holding the child, who was speaking to me. The web hurls him to the ground, back pinned. "Does my ass still look fake from this angle?" I ask, and the child sprints towards me, throwing himself into my arms with scared eyes. I carry him with one arm against me, swaying slightly.

"Spider-Man…" He says in awe, and promptly latches onto me, his eyes trained on his mother worriedly. "Please get my momma." He tells me, and quickly sit him on the fire escape. "I will. Don't move, okay? Stay right there unless I tell you to move." I say patiently, and he nods his head, eyes wide under his sandy hair. I stay in front of him.

As for the man I webbed to the ground, his eyes are livid, enraged as he screams at me. "When I get my fucking hands on you, you're -" He seethes, and I shoot another web at his mouth.

"You have to stop muttering. It's not attractive."

Immediately after that, several things happen at once.

One man barrels towards me, and I duck, tossing him over my shoulder. He lands somewhere to my side, dazed and groaning. One down.

Meanwhile, the other men lunge towards me while the man holding the woman shakes her around, grappling at her purse and body.

One of the men swings a punch at me, his fist colliding weakly to my stomach. I grab the sleeve of his jacket as he swings again at me, pulling the back hem up and over his eyes and twisting his sleeve around his front, spinning him before tossing him into a wall. He crumples onto the dirty ground, disoriented and nursing a concussion.

The next man bares a switchblade, and I fake a high scream. "A knife! Oh, god, I'm gonna die, aren't I? How will I ever escape the wrath of that tiny blade?" I ask, shooting a web at the knife and pinning it high on the alley wall. The man pauses wide-eyed in front of me. "Did you not have anything else planned?" I ask him, and he stammers before I web him to the wall. He curses furiously at me from the wall, which isn't very intimidating. I shoot a web at his crotch and he makes a shrill, panicked sound, promptly shutting his mouth.

Another two men rush at me, and I knock their heads together before shooting a web over the eyes of the man holding the mother.

I quickly grab her son from the fire escape, and hastily hand him to the shaking mother. "Did they hurt you?" I ask, and she shakes her head. "Not really. Thank you." She breathes, and I nod. "Of course." I hate to send her away, but I still have three men to deal with. I turn her around and nudge her out of the alley. "Run to the nearest store or restaurant and call the police. Go. Now." I say, and she complies, clutching her son close to her chest and darting away, but not before spitting on one of the men on the floor. I huff out a laugh.

A shudder runs through my spine just as I turn back around to face the alley. The man who was holding the woman has webs stuck to the corners of his eyes, his face red from scratching them off. He is livid. Before I can make any remarks, the two men whose heads were knocked together come up behind me, grabbing me tightly.

Now, I can easily get out of this. But that would severely injure them. Like, irreparable damage. Before I consider my best options, sharps bolts of electricity go through me, and I look down to see a taser, pressed to my stomach. The voltage is raised all the way, and curse over the fact that the robbers chose now to be smart.

A muffled cry escapes me, body shuddering as electricity jumps through my joints. I would be able to withstand a jolt or two, even at the highest voltage, but he's not stopping. This seems to go on for hours.

By the time he stops, my knees have given out and my head is lolled forward, wincing and barely conscious. The two men release me and I drop to the ground, hunched over on my hands and knees before collapsing onto the ground, by body jolting occasionally.

There's no eloquent way to say this, but they beat the shit out of me.

Every conceivable body part you can think of, they kicked. This went on for several minutes, the three of them doling out punches through laughter. Until finally, my body heals itself just enough, and I grab one of their legs and pull, tripping them all. They topple to the ground and I immediately web them together with blurry vision.

"Uhh…" I groan intelligently, pulling myself up from the ground. I don't know which part of myself to clutch in pain; everything hurts. I stumble out of the alley, falling to the ground once more before dragging myself back up.

"Ow." I mutter, leaning against the storefront on one side of the alley to gather my bearings. "Owowow." I whine. I have no choice but to stay there, slumped against the store.

I finally stand up again shakily once my joints stop jerking from the aftershocks, and my entire body is just a shuddering, buzzing, bruised thing.

Getting home by web would normally take ten minutes from this location.

Instead, it takes me an hour.

It is three in the morning when I eventually get home. I swing myself weakly onto my fire escape, breathless and dizzy, swaying slightly before bracing myself. My muscles scream in protest as I pull the window open, and I bite down a cry.

I grunt when I finally get it open, and promptly tumble into my apartment, a mess of limbs collapsing onto the floor underneath my window in a slumped heap against the wall.

I stay there for another ten minutes, breathing shortly and curling on my side in pain, staying as quiet as possible.

"Not fun." I wheeze.

Notes:

I hope you liked that! I'm rly proud of it and it was so fun to write :)) Let me know what you think!  
LEAVE COMMENTS!

follow my ig:  
tumblr: scruffydun

And, hey! A lot of people have been drawing fanart for my story! That's incredible! Thank you all for how huge this story has become!  
ALSO, the song Peter was listening to is Handlebars by Flobots! one of my faves.

Chapter 18: Surprise! Time for Tears!

Notes:

this chapter had to be split up into two, or it would've been too long, and you'll see why i found it necessary to split them up. I also feel like what happens in the next chapter NEEDS to have its OWN chapter, not be mixed with other things. You'll understand after reading this.

Hope you like it :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

WADE WILSON

I wake up five minutes before Peter first startles against me, after hearing wind howling against the window panes.

I had no flashbacks, no nightmares. At least, not that I can remember. I swallow thickly at the sheer gravity of that fact. Inever get a restful sleep.

For whatever reason, I didn't have them tonight.

Which is good, because that would definitely scare Peter away.

My night terrors and his night terrors are two very different demons.

But there is a boy here now. Peter. He is soft and warm and a bit sad. He is different; a bit like me. His hair tickles my chin and his cold feet are on my calves. His legs are tangled with mine, and I worry he may stir his legs in his sleep. His fists are loosely round the front of my shirt, and his spine is ridged beneath my fingers. His body is lax, pressed against me as if seeking my warmth. His eyelids flutter with gentle dreams, long lashes casting sooty shadows against his cheeks. His paced breaths blow out against my chest, and his belly is warm against mine.

A feeling of warmth washes over me as I look down at the younger man. Sleep is a difficult notion to grasp, I've learned. Basically, you voluntarily go into a death-like state for, on average, eight hours. In sleep, you are entirely defenseless, unaware of your surroundings. Sleeping beside someone is a very special thing.

And I don't mean having sex.

I mean just sleeping next to someone.

Here is this completely defenseless person, sleeping soundlessly against me, his small frame curled perfectly within my larger one. He chose to lay his body down near me, completely entrusting me. Entrusting my arms to hold him carefully and reassuringly, enveloping him in a warm haze. Entrusting my body to not hurt his. Entrusting me to hold him close, but not closer than he would like. Entrusting me to be there when he wakes, or at least not far. Entrusting me to not crush him with my weight, and to wake with him if he's scared.

I close my eyes right before Peter opens his. I keep my breathing paced and my heart beat steady, as I was trained to do. I know Peter would be able to hear any indications of me being awake.

I can tell Peter's relaxed, watching me. Instead of feeling defensive of his stare, I don't feel the need to. I don't mind his gaze. Peter is radiating contentedness, warmth, not disgust.

Soon after that, it becomes very clear that Peter must think I'm sleeping.

[He's gonna sneak out!]

{Or, he just has to use the bathroom.}

[Shut the fuck up. Sneaking out is a much better plot.]

After a painfully long time, Peter finally moves. He rolls over, so his back is against me.

[And his butt.]

And his butt.

After what feels like a goddamn hour, Peter crouches on the bed beside me.

What's he doing? If he's trying to sneak out, he should be smart enough not to walk on those creaky floors. Why would -

Ah.

Webs is going to climb the walls.

I have to remember to take calm breaths, because I have to admit, I'm kind of giddy at the prospect of Peter attempting this while I'm "asleep." I resolve to begin snoring softly, to keep up the act.

[He's such a goob.]

Before I know it, I can hear Peter directly above me, quietly grappling for what I can only assume is his suit.

There's a rustle, a sharp intake of breath, and the unmistakable sound of Spidey's web-shooters. Then, I can practically feel Peter's warmth inches away from my face. It takes all my willpower not to burst out laughing. I can hear the rustle of Peter's suit hovering somewhere above me, the stretch of the web's as Peter is hanging from them.

"Oh my - god." Peter gripes. "Bad. So bad." I have to make sleepy sounds and smile softly to avoid chuckling.

Just to fuck with him, I frown, stirring in my sleep and rolling onto my back.

And really, Peter's upward momentum is astounding, because he's swung himself back onto the ceiling so fast his head must be spinning. I peak my eyes open, feining sleep, and Peter stares back at me, stomach flat against the ceiling and hair mussed, teeth bared as he bites down on his suit.

Satisfied with the look I got, I coo happily and fall back "asleep".

I can practically hear Peter's shock, and he stays in the ceiling for several seconds just assessing what just happened. Eventually, he swings himself down, landing in the living room by the sofa, shutting the bedroom door halfway.

With narrowed eyes, I can see that his back is turned toward me. Peter stares at the DON'T WORRY billboard for a minute, and I watch confusedly before my expression softens. Peter's shoulders drop with a loud, relieved sigh. That billboard must've really calmed him down when I showed it to him. I'm glad.

And then Peter is hastily changing, tugging off his tank top and sweats, tossing them over the sofa. Peter slips his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear, and I blink distractedly for a moment, eyebrow raised.

[Look away, asshole!]

{What! No! Keep looking.}

I drop my eyes to his feet hastily, a bit begrudgingly, but I feel better when I do. This isn't like when he dropped his towel for me to see his ass for two seconds; he doesn't know that I'm awake this time.

Peter's underwear drops around his ankles, and he kicks them up onto the sofa on top of his sweatpants.

[Why is he going commando anyway? Does he chafe?]

That's cute.

And then he's unfolding his suit, stepping into the boots and rolling the spandex up his thighs, wiggling them up over his hips (aw). He slips his arms through, rolls the suit up over his chest and back, and then struggles with the half zipper on his back that I didn't even know was there.

"The more you know." I hum quietly, burrowing warmly under the blankets.

Peter tugs the mask over his face.

{Hot.}

[Hot.]

Hot. His ass is stellar.

Peter unclips a pair of leather bound bracelets that I noticed earlier, before putting on wider, thicker, metal bracelets - no, webshooters.

"Oh! That's what those bracelets were! Sneaky little fucker..." I hiss under the blankets, eyes wide.

Apparently Peter has a pocket in his suit, because his phone disappears by his belly, and he slips headphones under his mask.

He pulls open the window, and I purr as his lean muscles work under the suit.

He hops onto the fire escape, arms outstretched, his head up to the sky. His lithe frame in the suit is silhouetted by the dark night sky. He looks… ethereal.

And then he drops out of sight.

My eyes widen and I jolt upright, mouth parted in surprise.

"Holy shitfuck." I breathe.

He's gorgeous.

[He's also gone.]

{Stop whispering.}

I whip the blankets off of me and scamper into the living room, sifting through the clothes he tossed before finding his webshooters.

"Huh." I nod appreciatively, inspecting one leather-bound bracelet in my hand carefully. "How do these work?" I clip one onto my wrist curiously. It fits kind of tight for my taste, but Peter's wrists are smaller, and these have to fit snug, I guess.

I tug lightly on one of the drawstrings of the bracelet, and immediately regret it. "McFuck!" I get hurled forward and onto the floor, my shoulder ripped out of its socket.

"Oh, sweet fuck." I hiss, pushing myself up to a sitting position with my good arm.

Strings of thick web hang down my face and neck and I chuckle despite the situation. "Money shot." I wince, tugging the web off of me and leaving it on the ground, knowing it'll disintegrate soon after several occurrences of Spidey getting pissed and webbing my to an alley wall.

Now, I remember something about Spidey rambling to me, telling me how the strength of his webshooters could tear a normal person's arm clean off their body.

Of course I remember after I dislocate my fucking shoulder.

I stand, hold my forearm against my chest with my opposite hand, and shove my shoulder into the wall.

I hear a distinctive pop, and a swell of pain, and then my arm is back in place.

"It's too early for this." I mutter, rolling my shoulder in resignation.

I carefully unclip Peter's web shooter, set it down where I found it, and step away backwards, middle finger pointed angrily.

Humming to myself, I shuffle into the bathroom, turning on the faucets and undressing while the water adjusts.

I shower quickly, in case Webs comes back early, the hot water hell on my sore skin. I find a dark plush towel on Peter's towel rack, drying off briskly and wrapping the fluffy thing around my waist. I saunter out of the steaming bathroom with my clothes under my arm, tossing them on top of a pile of clothes on Peter's floor - what I assume is a laundry pile.

I passionately hum the lyrics to Gangsta's Paradise, rummaging through my go-bag and pulling out relatively clean clothes. I sniff them briefly, and make a pleased sound to find that they smell like soap and traces of gunpowder.

Midway through pulling on black sweats, my phone makes an obnoxious FaceTime request sound from somewhere in the bed.

"Wha?" I blanch.

Who in the shit is face-timing me at one-thirty in the morning?

[A hooker?]

{Homeland Security?}

[Tony Stark, on a booty call?]

I pull my sweats up around my waist and throw on a thermal shirt before groping around the bed sheets for my phone.

"Where -" I swipe my hand in a long arch across the bed, "-the shit biscuit is my phone?" I resolve to grab the blanket by the hem and flatten it out again, creating a wave of rippling sheets as they drape back on top of the bed again. I hear a clunk, and watch as my phone hits the floor by my feet.

{Found it.}

I grapple for it, and see that it's Clint. I smile widely.

That's why someone's facetiming me; because Clint can't call.

[Why did the Marvel Cinematic Universe make Clint able to hear without a hearing aid in the movies?]

{...}

[Why didn't they make him deaf?]

{Because the MCU apparently thinks physically handicapped people are inept and cannot possibly be heroes. That's why.}

[Mic drop.]

{Don't worry, readers! Clint is comic-accurate and deaf in this story! And he still kicks ass.}

I slide to accept the video call right before I miss it, throwing myself onto my belly and kicking my feet languidly behind me, a lazy, giddy smile on my face.

"Hey there, handsome." Clint grins.

"Stop, I'm blushing. You can't tell, 'cause, you know, tumors, but I totally am." I chuckle. He watches my lips intently.

"Sign or talk?" I ask him vocally.

"Sign. Please. I have a headache." Clint says.

"Say no more." Hah, literally.

I prop my phone against a pillow and sit in front of it, cross-legged.

"So, why have you graced me with your scruffy face at such an ungodly hour?" I sign to him.

{For all the readers who don't know, Deadpool knows sign language.}

"Were you asleep?" Clint signs, raising a brow with doubt.

"No. I was making sweet love."

"Sure hope not. You're still babysitting Peter." Clint signs, huffing out a laugh.

"Caught my bluff." I sign, shrugging.

"Were you actually sleeping?" Clint signs, brows furrowed in question.

"No, I just showered."

"Where's Peter?"

I hesitate a moment. "Doing laundry downstairs."

Clint scrunches his nose knowingly. "At two in the morning?"

"He's a very particular boy. He says the washing machine caresses his clothes the best in the wee hours of the morning." I explain. And, wow, lying isn't as fun when you aren't speaking.

Clint snorts out a laugh, shaking his head and looking to the sky as he downs at least a pint of black coffee straight from the coffee pot.

"Anyway. Stark told me to check in." Clint shrugs.

"He doesn't trust me for shit, huh?" I sign.

"It depends on the day. How's the kid doing? He didn't seem too good when he was here earlier."

I stifle my grin.

[We made out with him!]

{Huuuuugggeeee romantic gesture via fort and fairy lights!}

[They gayest tickle fight in the multiverse!]

Haha! He's not even in the apartment building right now! He's doing god knows what, defending god knows who, like he does every night as fucking Spider-Man!

"He's much better." I settle with signing.

Clint seems satisfied with this. "Okay." He says aloud. "Tell him we got a great lawyer making a case on the guy we arrested, who'll need to talk to Pete at some point. Let him know we're handling it." Clint says, and his voice is somber, worried.

"Yeah. Yeah, I will." I nod.

"And I think you'd really like this lawyer. We haven't told him the specifics of the case yet, but I'm sure you two will get along…" Clint says knowingly, grinning.

My eyes brighten. "Oh! Is it - no, wait, don't tell me." I beam, and Clint shakes his head with a laugh.

"Anyway. I'm tired. I just stole a dog from a gang leader who was abusing him, so today has been a doozy."

'Wait, what?" I say aloud, but sign at the same time, because Clint is still squinting at my lips.

"Yeah. Look at 'im. Ain't he cute." Clint says, and there's muffled static, and then the camera pans to a massive gray Great Dane, sitting by Clint's feet happily.

My jaw drops, and Clint turns the camera back to himself casually. "So, you're saying that you stole that huge dog from a gang leader? How did you get him out of there?"

"I carried him! His life was in danger! He got knocked to the ground!" Clint says, like sprinting away carrying a 120 pound dog is the obvious answer.

"Well. Your moral standing towards dogs is impeccable."

"Yeah, yeah." Clint smiles fondly at the dog. "Alright, pal, I'm calling it a night. Tell Peter I said hi."

"You got it. G'night."

"Say goodnight, Peaches!" Clint coos, and the last thing I see is a hulking dog licking the camera.

He named a dog larger than most humans Peaches.

{He's a good man.}

[Pure.]

I set my phone to charge, and check the digital clock on Peter's nightstand.

2:45.

He's been gone for nearly two hours. Where is he? I know that Webs can easily patrol for three, even four hours a night if there's tons of crime, but Peter should also be overly cautious now that I'm here. He wouldn't want to be out too long, in case I wake up.

So, this is odd.

{He's dead.}

[Way to go. You let him die.]

Ah, shut up.

I busy myself by pacing Peter's small apartment worriedly for several minutes. I resolve to eat a leftover taco, and then brush my teeth because sleeping people don't eat tacos, and Peter would probably smell it.

I'm embarrassingly close to playing Nintendogs on my DS, when I hear a loud clatter on the fire escape.

Oh! He's okay!

{Quick! Pretend you're asleep!}

I sprint into the bedroom, and dive into the bed, pulling the blankets up around me and sprawling out on my back.

I immediately and easily pace my breaths, willing my heart to slow its excited hammering.

In all fairness, for a genius, he was kind of silly to think he could sneak out without waking me.

The window to the fire escape opens very slowly.

Why did he open it slowly? So it doesn't creak? That window doesn't make noise - it looked new.

Weird.

I hear a strained sound, followed immediately by a hard thump.

I frown.

This feels off.

It's noticeably silent for several seconds. Why isn't he coming inside the bedroom? Is he still right by the window?

I hold my breath, listening.

Listen.

The sound of faint, labored breaths fill the room, and I bolt upright when Peter whines weakly.

Something's wrong.

I lean forward on the bed, quietly, to see a pair of feet sprawled out right in front of the window, unmoving.

Something is very wrong.

{So much for pretending you don't know his identity.}

[Do we have to stop playing the game now?]

I dart out of the bed in an instant, kicking tangled blankets off my feet, my mind immediately resorting back to my training instincts as I survey the rest of the living room to make sure Peter is alone.

When my eyes land on him, my heart trips and my blood chills. I'm not even sure he's conscious.

I'm angry and terrified at the same time.

"Oh, Christ," I whisper, voice thready as I rush to him.

Notes:

Ah, cliffhanger, my old friend.  
The next chapter will be THE BIG SAD HURT/COMFORT CHAPTER  
LEAVE COMMENTS!  
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Chapter 19: Well, This Sucks.

Notes:

This chapter was deleted and re-uploaded for reasons explained in the end notes.

ALSO: SLIGHT CHANGE: PETER IS NINETEEN.  
I ORIGINALLY WROTE HIM AS EIGHTEEN, BUT I NEEDED MORE ROOM FOR PLOT.  
HE IS NINETEEN.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

WADE WILSON

I rush to Peter, slumped against the wall, head lolled to the side.

"C'mon, Petey, wake up for me." I breathe, taking his face in my hands, pulling his mask off. His jaw has a bruise blossoming on the left side, red and angry, and his right brow has a slash through it, blood matted in his hairline. His lip has split again, dried blood lining his lips in something that dares to imitate beauty.

"Fuck!" I hiss in frustration, hands hovering over Peter, scared to touch him, scared to hurt him more. I press my ear to his chest, hearing the soft, rhythmic thud of his heart. I move my hand to hover over his mouth, and feel very slow breaths hitting me. "Okay, kid, you're okay. You're going to be fine." I say, crouching on the floor between his splayed legs hesitantly.

Did I say that for him or for me?

"Wake up, Peter." I urge, louder than before. He doesn't stir. And while he definitely isn't awake, his body tremors slightly every few moments. I frown at that, scaling my eyes down his suit, to find char marks on his stomach. "Come on, Web Head, wake up for me." I shake his shoulder slightly, and his body almost tips forward. I catch him before he topples, pressing him back against the wall. "Wake up, Parker!" I shout, and get no response.

"Damnit!" I curse, giving up for now. As long as he's breathing, it's fine.

Before I do anything else, I run my fingers over the base of his head, down his spine, over his skull and ribs, feeling for fractures or breaks.

I have to hit him.

{You have to hit him.}

[You have to keep him awake.]

"I'm sorry." I mutter. I cup the left side of his face in my hand, hesitating. "Ah, sorrysorrysorry."

My palm hits his cheek with a resounding smack, and Peter gasps, eyes fluttering open. His eyes meet mine in a dizzy haze, eyebrows furrowed, breath labored. Slowly, wincing with effort, Peter slurs something unintelligible. "You're okay, Webs." I assure, but Peter probably isn't entirely aware of his surroundings, because he isn't panicking over the fact that I'm with him. Maybe he thinks his mask is still on.

He slurs something else out, and I nod my head and acknowledge him just to keep him calm. Finding no fractures or breaks, and now that he's at least somewhat awake, I scoop him up effortlessly, and his head falls against my chest.

Now that he's against me, I can tell he's sweating, but shivers wrack his body. It occurs to me that I have no idea where he went, or how long it took him to get home in this state, in a New York November night. He's probably freezing.

"What'd you do, Baby Boy, huh?" I ask. "What happened to you?"

I set him down on the closed toilet lid, plug the shower's drain, and turn the water on.

His face is a mangled mess, dark cuts starkly contrasting the unusual paleness to him. I'm worried to see how bad the rest of him is.

"'S okay. 'S gonna be okay." I mumble, more a plea, crouching down in front of him and hooking my chin over his shoulder to keep him upright.

I wrap my arms around him to grapple for the concealed partial zipped on his back and carefully pull the zipper down, his suit unraveling from his skin. I peel his suit off from his back, leaning him back against the toilet seat to slip the suit off his chest, pulling it down his waist.

{Oh, Christ.}

[That's, uh, that's bad. How good is Spidey's healing factor?]

"I don't know." I answer the boxes aloud. "Fuck! I don't know."

His entire torso is mottled with bruises. Blossoming bruises of red and blue and purple splash his sides, his lower belly, all over his ribs.

I take a deep breath, clenching my jaw, hot with anger and cold with fear.

Once again, Deadpool and Wade Wilson are having conflicting views, aligning in one sole location.

Deadpool wants to go after the group who were capable of beating Peter, and beat them just as badly, if not worse.

Wade Wilson wants to rush him to a hospital, but there are obvious issues with doing that, like, for one, what if he heals and the doctors have questions? Or, how do I fucking explain how he got beat up in the first place?

So, really, Wade Wilson wants to get Peter to a normal temperature, call Bruce, and clean and bandage his cuts.

Which is exactly what he'll do.

Later, perhaps, when Wade Wilson and Deadpool's plans line up, he will make sure Peter is safe, he will assure Peter he isn't mad at him for keeping his identity a secret, they will discuss Peter's abilities and weaknesses, and then Wade will beat the shit out of everyone who hurt Peter. Perhaps.

I need to breathe. This isn't like me; I'm too worked up about this. I fish my phone from my pocket and call Bruce.

In three seconds, he picks up. I don't give him time to speak.

"Come to Peter's apartment as soon as possible. I know he's Spider-Man, and I know you do too. Just get here. Bring medical shit." I say, voice stern.

"Wade, slow down, what -"

"Please." I hang up when my voice cracks.

I'm clearly not a damn doctor, but I know Peter has to get warm fast.

Pushing my panic down, I grab the suit, now hanging low on his hips.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I tell him. "I know you're not totally awake right now, but someone really did a number on you, and I need to make sure you don't get hypothermia. I'm just gonna put you in the bath, okay?" I promise him. "Just a bath."

[Disgusting - you're taking advantage of him.]

{He's unconscious, you sick bastard. He probably thinks the person from his dream is undressing him. He's going to be traumatized.}

Both of you, shut the fuck up. I would never hurt him. He's going to get worse if he doesn't get warm. Fuck off.

"If you can hear me, I'm putting you in the bath. Me. Wade. 'S me. I'm just gonna get you in some warm water, okay, Petey? You know, most heroes wear undies under their suit. I'd feel a lot less like a creep." I mutter, slipping his suit the rest of the way off, hanging round his feet.

I hiss in sympathy, clenching my fists tightly at my sides to avoid punching the wall. His legs aren't in much better shape than his torso; his shins are bruised to hell, angry red bruises on his inner thighs, and - just - everywhere.

Beaten head-to-fucking-toe.

"I know I'm trying to be a better man, and more like a hero, and all that good shit, but that's objective! I'm actually going to kill those sorry sons of -"

{[FOCUS!]}

I blink hard, focusing back on Peter, pulling the last of the suit off his feet, and picking him up as gingerly as possible. I set him in the tub, water level just under his pectorals.

Watching him is pure torture. He's shaking, bruised, beaten and freezing, sweat matting his curls to his forehead. Peter stirs upon being placed in the water, but he mumbles something, makes a pitiful sound when he tries to twist his body, and falls back into an uneasy, semi-conscious state.

Grabbing the first aid kit, I move to sit on the edge of the tub, my feet in the water by his side. There's so much to fix that I don't know where to start. I can clean and bandage the cuts, but everything else, any internal damage to his ribs or bleeding from the bruises will have to be handled by Bruce.

My heart hangs heavy, suspended in my cavernous ribs and tripping over precipitous lungs. This is weird. So weird. I've killedpeople… as my job. Gore is my specialty, my profession. But this, well.

It's different.

This boy did nothing wrong.

This boy is Peter.

My chest burns with fury and my eyes burn with something else, my hands itching to hold him but too scared to hurt him and my heart hurting.

The swell of secondhand pain weighs my heart, tugging down my shoulders until they're too heavy for me to keep straight. And I finally understand why Steve Rogers' body, with all his strength, seems to melt, his shoulders low, when Bucky is hurting; because it hurts Steve, too.

And this, it must be, is why I feel so tired, so scared for Peter, while the contradictory feeling of rage pools in my belly to right this wrong.

It occurs to me then that I've known Peter far longer than just a few days; I've known him as Spider-Man for years. And they are one the same. Sure, Spider-Man is snarkier, confident, downright sassy. Wearing a suit gives everyone the power to act themselves; anonymity is strength. But Peter has always been those things.

I remember countless rooftop discussions with Spidey, and therefore, with Peter. Oddly, Peter never actually sat on the roof itself, but the roof's edge. I would have to ask why someday.

Very early on, I realized that Spidey was strict with boundaries. Around a year ago, I'd fawned over his beautiful ass, which, hey, is anyone surprised? As we were walking, I'd smacked said ass. Spidey broke my wrist, a silent "no" on his lips, stance frightened and entire body stiff, before he backed himself away from me, hands tap-tap-tapping even more than they used to against his web-shooter. The ordeal worried me so much I didn't see him for another month. Hell, I was contemplating leaving the state.

I did, actually. But only for one week. Then I just spent time avoiding him, worried I'd accidentally cause that to happen again. I didn't know why it happened, what to call it, how to keep it from happening. We met up again, eventually. Peter didn't really mention it.

After a few more occurrences of me overstepping, and Peter making it very clear that I did so, we developed a system: I would ask to touch him on his difficult days or "Bad Days" as Peter called them lamely, and he wouldn't break my hand or kick me where the sun don't shine.

Soon, it became a relatively non-issue. At least with me.

After that, I'd noticed other things, like how his leg would always shake rhythmically, probably because it provided a constant, timing his leg-swinging to something invisible that I could never pinpoint. The tap-tap-tap of of his fingers against his web-shooters, or the webbed ridges of his suit, were something I'd gotten used to. I didn't question the weird touch thing that happened in the first few occurances that we met. I assumed, and still do, that it was just a trust issue, but recently I have the quaking feeling that perhaps it's something rooted deeper than just a rightully cautious hero and a lack of trust. So long as the kid was eating, and we could just talk on whatever roof we'd stumble upon, I didn't really care.

His brain and my brain are both messed up. Different kinds of messed up, but that's okay. I realized after a few more injuries that Peter probably struggled with sensory overload, which makes a ton of damn sense now, what with the panic attacks and the noise and touch and light issues.

Hell, on really bad days, he wouldn't even speak, just eat his burrito pensively and swing his legs on the gargoyle statue atop a roof that we often frequented. But that was okay too. I spoke enough for the both of us.

Oddly, fighting is different; even before he let me be touchy and cuddly with him, he wouldn't mind fighting. I think, deep down, he kind of likes fighting someone who has an equal advantage, even if he is Queens' vigilant hero. He'll fight me. Hell, he has fought me. Two years ago I had thrown a burrito at him and he tackled me off the skyscraper roof we were on. We grappled at each other all the way down to the first story. Sure, before we hit the ground Peter's webs caught us, but still. And that was only the third time we met.

After he'd established some boundries, we were fine. Sure, if I'd noticed he couldn't tolerate noise or lights, I'd keep my distance for his and my sake. Such boundaries included, in the first few months before he'd gotten used to me, "touch my ass and I'll neuter you" and, months later, after he'd considered me a benign (haha) person, "okay, fine, you can touch me now. If you lose my trust, I will not hesitate to cut nipple holes in your suit and break your fingers" .

This - Spidey's behavior being so strangely similar to Peter's - all makes more sense now; they're literally the same boy. Now, after we've kissed, made out, after I've held him and hugged him, it's clear to me that Peter's only comfortable when he initiates the contact, unless he's too tired to care.

None of those meetings were ever planned, just coincidence, I guess. After a few sarcastic blows, and a few real ones, sometimes, Spidey would settle onto the roof's edge, the heaviness of the night resting atop his body until he would just lay down on the roof's edge. I would sit near him, but keeping my distance, eating, cleaning my guns, counting ammo, dropping shells from the roof and asking Peter if he could hear when they fell. That's just what used to happen: we would randomly run into each other, help solve some crime or another. I would convince him to eat, pester him, make rude jokes, pick fights with him.

And he wouldn't give up, wouldn't grunt in annoyance or leave. Him talking with me, being seen by the press fighting side-by-side with me, was never a bother to him.

And so, sometimes, we wouldn't split up immediately after stopping some senseless crime. Peter, as vaguely as possibly, would just ramble sometimes, talking about nothing of importance. And I'd listen.

It was just something that ended up being a recurring theme if we happened to run into each other.

{You're kind of an idiot for not realizing that Peter is Spider-Man sooner.}

[Yeah.]

Maybe it isn't weird that I'm feeling so strongly about Peter getting hurt, why I feel so heavy with his duress. My worry towards him resembles that of a much older partnership.

But that's because it is an old partnership. We've known each other for years.

Feeling resolved and finally a little more clear-headed, at least for now, I snap out of my goddamn romance movie internal monologue. I dip a cup into the water in the tub, blocking Peter's eyes and nose before pouring it over his head. I do this again over his chest and back, keeping him warm and washing blood off of him.

I drip alcohol onto a swatch of cotton and disinfect the slash on his eyebrow. "'S gonna leave a scar, kid. You'll maybe need a stitch or three. Bruce will do that, when he fucking gets here." I talk to him, half in the hope that he'll wake up soon, and half because even if he can only barely understand, he deserves to know what's going on. "But you'll look punk, at least. With a slash through your eyebrow." I say brightly. I dip a new cotton ball in alcohol, and dab it to his lip, swiping dried blood off. Thankfully, the cut isn't too bad. He won't need stitches. I work down his body, cleaning cuts on his arms, washing dark blood off his knuckles. I inspect one slash on his belly surrounded by a swell of bruises. Tangled in the bruises are several mild scorch marks, each mark double-pronged.

"Taser?" I wonder aloud, pausing as if he would respond to me. "Fucking assholes." I clean the area cautiously. I wipe clean scraped and bloody shins, carefully washing over bruises, which is hard, because he's bruised and beaten everywhere.

"You really got into some trouble, huh, Webs?" I ask, not mad. Softly, even.

He's not shivering nearly as much, and the jolts through his body aren't happening anymore. His breathing is still hitched, but that confirms my guess - his ribs are either bruised or fractured.

The water in the tub is now a murky pink with blood, like it's feigning beauty. With one hand on Peter's shoulder so he doesn't slump down, I unplug the drain to let the dirty water down, rinsing him off with the shower hose, wiping errant hair from his forehead.

A knock on the door startles me and Peter both, but Peter only jolts, flutters his eyelids.

"I did not think this through." I say blankly. I can't just leave the injured unconscious kid in the bathtub to get the door.

"Please, feel free to break in. The key is under the -" Before I finish, the door opens and shuts.

"Wade?" Bruce calls, and I poke my head out of the bathroom door.

"How did you get it?"

"I picked the lock." Bruce says simply, a bit ruffled around the edges, which is understandable, seeing as it's four in the morning.

"Wait, you picked the - nevermind. Get in here. Sorry, please. But get in here."

Bruce doesn't even look around the place, doesn't question the state of disarray or anything, just shoves his way into the bathroom until he gets a look at Peter.

"Jesus Christ." Bruce rasps, dropping his bag to the ground my by feet.

"No, it's just Peter."

"What happened to him? Tell me what you already know." Bruce says, and Wade appreciates his calm demeanor.

As the drain slurps and splutters to drain the water, clogged with coagulated blood, Wade explains. "He snuck out of the apartment to go patrolling. I let him, since he's clearly not defenseless biochemist intern Peter Parker. Three hours later, he comes back like this, passed out under the window. He's been… vaguely conscience, before slipping under again. He was freezing and shaking so I got him in hot water. I felt for broken bones already. I think his ribs are fucked; his breathing is weird. I already cleaned and disinfected all the big cuts, but he needs stitches and proper rib binding and I can't do that, I can't - I can't help him any -"

"Okay, stop." Bruce says, not rudely.

"Okay."

"Breathe," says Bruce.

"Okay." I nod.

Bruce narrows his eyes. "You're not breathing."

"Whaa? That's - that's, no…"

Water now fully drained, Bruce sighs. "Okay, you need to calm down, or you need to leave…" Bruce says adamantly.

"No can do, Green Giant." I joke to mask my discomfort. "I can't leave. Or, I really shouldn't…" While I'm contemplating telling Bruce why I don't feel right leaving (Would Peter want me to tell him? Does Bruce already know?), Bruce moves past me in the cramped bathroom to grab a plush towel, crouching down next to me, pulling Peter into an upright sitting position and wrapping the towel round his front.

"Okay, wait." I say, and Bruce turns beside me, cinching the towel closed with one fist but otherwise still. "Peter has a thing with touch. He just, I don't know. For the most part, he's fine. But if his powers are screwing with his sensory intake, he has a pretty decent aversion to being touched unless he's controlling the situation, or there's some serious trust involved, or his life depends on it." I say, rather lamely.

He narrows his eyes.

I grunt. "Basically, if he wakes up right now, with his powers and senses all fucked because of the beating, no idea what's happening, and sees you touching him, he may or not rabbit punch you."

Bruce's hair is curling in the humidity of the bathroom while he ponders, gears turning in his head, like he's recounting his past experiences with Peter.

Dr. Smashy pulls the towel up to rest atop Peter's head, draping down his back and enveloping his shoulders.

"Does Peter have PTSD? Anxiety disorders? Sensory issues?" Bruce asks me simply. "I have to admit I've noticed odd behavioral patterns before, but there's more than one explanation. Maybe he has Sensory Defensiveness." He mutters. "I wouldn't worry much about it. The last one makes the most sense, given Peter's abilities."

I stare at him, brows furrowed and mouth in an o.

{PTSD? Sensory issues? Anxiety?}

{...}

[Ah.]

{We should have known this.}

[Stop thinking you can spot out mental illness on people. It's fucked up and assumptious. ALSO, is nobody here remembering that Bruce isn't a MEDICAL doctor?]

"Uh. Sensory defensiveness would make a helluva lot of sense. He's never explicitely told me, but. Having his powers from such a young age, and all. Well, gee, Doc, that sure would make sense. Um -"

"Okay, you can be existential about this later. You can talk to him later. You said he can tolerate touch if his life depends on it, even though he may not like it or react uncomfortably?"

"Yes."

"Well, his life may depend on it if I don't make sure his ribs are alright." Bruce says, terse but calm. I really fucking appreciate his calmness under pressure, because I am pissing blood right now.

We make quick work of drying him as carefully as possible while still being effective.

"Do you want to carry him instead of me? Will that help?" He asks me, and the courtesy alone is astounding. I scoop Peter up, which is a plight, because most of his noninvasive contact points are heavily bruised.

I was a mess throughout the entirety of Bruce bandaging and examining Peter. At one point, when Bruce had three stitches in Peter already, he told me to go sit in the corner because I was blabbering so much.

{ Mess is an understatement.}

[I think you cried.]

{More than once]

Shut the fuck up.

One hour later, at five in the morning, Peter is lying in bed, sleeping still. His ribs are heavily wrapped, and there are stitches in his eyebrow, right bicep, and on his stomach. There's a brace on his foot, gauze around the cut on his arm and abdomen, and neosporin on the burns on his stomach. A thin butterfly bandage cinches his split lip. We managed to get underwear on him as soon as possible, because it felt wrong otherwise.

According to Green Giant, he dislocated two ribs, that, upon being popped back into place, Peter woke for a split moment to nearly throw Bruce across the room. He warns me that these ribs will dislocate again if Peter gets any smart ideas to do anything more strenuous than limp slowly. These ribs are also bruised.

Now, his blanket is pulled over him, and all that is left to see are the bruises on his cheekbone and the slowly spreading swell on his lip.

My anger is more sated now, storing it away in the pit of my belly for a more opportune time, and instead I watch Peter from my seat on his desk chair, elbows on my knees and head in my hands. The rise-and-fall of his breath are an interesting reassurance, and I find myself watching his chest more than anything else.

"Are you okay?" Bruce asks me, and I stir, pulling my eyes away from him and watching a very tired Bruce, setting rolls of gauze, bandages, and antibacterial cream down on the nightstand for us to keep.

Am I okay?

Did he just ask me that?

{Has anyone ever done that before?}

[What do we say?]

I review the way his mouth moved, they way his head cocked in question, and can confirm that he did in fact ask me if I was okay. I rifle through my mental archives, searching for an answer.

"What do you mean." I ask. No, I don't ask. It comes out flat, stale. A statement as I watch him confusedly.

Why can't my head work today? Is this what unbridled piss-worthy panic feels like? Gross.

Bruce rakes uncomely hair away from his face, sitting at the foot of the bed in front of me. I'm assuming you overheard Peter and I talking in the bathroom yesterday about his powers, and that's how you found out who he was?"

I think I nod.

"And I'm assuming you care about him."

I think I nod again, but warily.

"He stumbles home from a life you didn't know he lived, beaten and bloody and unconscious. And, so, are you alright?" Bruce asks me again.

"I think so, Greenie." I shrug. "I mean, I want to do some things to the fuckers that hurt him that I probably shouldn't disclose in the presence of an Avenger. But, yeah."

Bruce, bless his radioactive heart, smiles. He moves around the room to pick up the odds and ends of his medical equipment, and I peer closer at Peter, speaking low. " Are you gonna wake up soon, Pete?" I ask him. His lashes flutter, but nothing more interesting than that. "Is this your Spidey-Power way of healing? Is this what happens when you get hurt? D'ya powers just kick in and make you sleep through major healing?"

[Oh, hey, that kinda makes sense.]

{How strange of him to make sense.}

Bruce turns to me, inclining his head. "Actually, that's not… Well. That actually makes sense. His senses are highly attuned and often do what's best for him out of his own accord. Plus, if his senses are as defensive as you've told me, and from what I myself have notices, he may simply be sleeping because he can't tolerate otherwise." Bruce explains, and my chest feels heavy at that. He continues, "It's not the first time a mutant or mutate has developed coping and healing mechanisms. Bucky eats like a pig after he's been injured, and if I recall, so do you." Bruce hums to himself.

"And we've all seen how much The Cap can sleep when he's been injured." He chuckles and my eyes widen.

Radioactive Broccoli said what now.

"What."

He glances away from Peter and startles at my panic. "Oh. No! No, Wade, Christ, nothing like that. I assure you Peter won't sleep for seventy years like Steve did. Their abilities are vastly different. I apologize, I should've elaborated. I was just agreeing with you - it wouldn't be odd if Peter's powers kept him sleeping to heal uninterrupted as long as possible. He should be awake by tomorrow night the latest, I promise."

"I almost pissed myself, Doc, c'mon." I wheeze, clawing at my bare scalp. He shoots me an apologetic look and I grunt.

"I have a feeling you two will work things out. I recommend asking him to tell you the extent of his powers, his skills, his weaknesses. So you'll both be better prepared, whether in his vigilante life, or his civilian life. I think he just needs someone to ask."

I nod again at him.

Bruce stands then, clapping me on the shoulder. "Peter will be fine. I'm leaving you bandages and everything you need to keep his wounds clean. Assuming you don't know, I'll tell you: Peter has a healing factor, but not nearly as good as yours. If he eats well, sleeps, keeps his wounds clean, his ribs should heal in no longer than four days." Bruce assures me, and I scrub a hand over my face. "Got it, Doc."

Bruce hums in a tone I can't understand. "Do not let him do anything illogical, such as climbing, jumping, running, stretching his arms too high up, or patrolling. Make him stay in bed as much as possible. I've had to treat him a year ago, when he was eighteen, and he was so antsy he almost reopened all his stitches." Bruce tells me, and I look at him mildly panicked.

"I'll make up some excuse to Tony as to why he can't show up to intern. Although, I can't be sure he isn't already flying drones around here to keep an eye out for the both of you." He finishes, and grabs his bag off the floor.

"He's not. I check the windows every three hours. But tell the Tiny Tin Man to fuck off and chill out."

Bruce narrows his eyes. "I'll paraphrase."

I snort out a laugh. "You're alright, Dr. Smashy. I get why Petey doesn't mind you. You're not all touchy and invasive like the rest of 'em."

I walk him to the door, thank him roughly 7.3 times.

"You should sleep, Wade."

"Hm. Thanks, but no."

Three more thank-yous, and a tight hug, and one more reminder to keep him in bed and and and.

And finally we're alone.

At first, the quiet weighed heavily on me. Not even the voices were talking. Which, wow, fuck them. The one time I want some company and they go mute.

So I do, really, the only thing that makes sense to me in the moment. I grab all three sheets Peter had on his bed, and very carefully and thoroughly re-tuck Peter the fuck in.

I move to turn the ceiling light off, leaving the night stand lamp on before taking the desk chair and moving to sit right beside Peter's bed. I brace my elbows on my knees, resting my head in my hands again as I watch Peter.

I'm not tired. Or, maybe, I'm so tired that I can't sleep.

{Shooting yourself usually helps you fall asleep.}

[And you wake up feeling so refreshed!]

Welcome back, fuckwads.

The kid looks really damn peaceful in his sleep. His face is void of worry and his lips are not turned down in hesitation. He's not shaking his leg, he's not tap-tapping his web-shooters or thumbing his pants fabric. His chest rises and falls with each small breath, breathing easier now, at least a bit, now that his ribs have been set again. His body is loose and his lashes flutter occasionally. He has no troubles plaguing him right now.

It stays calm and quiet in that way for almost an hour before I see Peter twitch in his sleep, brows drawing together. I watch him warily, hoping to be a natural movement in his sleep.

Another hour passes. Six in the morning.

Seven in the morning.

Seven-thirty.

Moments later, Peter drags in a shuddering breath, eyes screwing shut more tightly as he tosses his head with gritted teeth.

I watch him, my heart on the edge of my ribs and eyes searching for every micro expression.

His movements are moderate, slight, but difficult to watch. Because I don't know what Peter is watching, what he's seeing or reliving in his mind as his subconscious keeps him asleep to heal.

Nearly nine o'clock.

"What's going on in that head of yours, hm? What the shit did you do to yourself?" I ask, not expecting an answer.

Peter sighs in his sleep.

Notes:

I deleted this chapter and reposted it, because of typos and my own apparently skewed analysis that I wrote at 4am. I feel like this is a better version, and I'm more proud of it.

In the draft, I had Bruce suggest that Peter MAY be on the spectrum, and, if any of you recall, Peter's behavior throughout various comics, cartoons, and animes, have left the idea of him being on the spectrum, or at least with some sensory processing issues, very ambiguous.

But I digress.

As a person who experiences sensory defensiveness, I'm aware that it's not always clear who has what, but I took it out anyway, since some of you got a bit ahead of yourselves.

And if you look back, he's had sensory defensiveness, at least to a certain scale, this entire time. This is just the first place I've had Wade actually be pensive about it.

Anyway. Enjoy.

Chapter 20: Rise and Shine!

Notes:

THANKS FOR 50,000 HITS! That's incredible! I'm never confident in my writing, so this is pretty neat.  
ALSO, it's not really necessary because it's nothing important, but you might want to read the last chapter again before starting this; I made some minor changes and I like the flow of it better.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

PETER PARKER

Tingles shoot up and down my spine like fireworks, rattling my brain and screaming danger danger DANGER.

My spidey senses rocket up my nervous system and I bolt upright with a pathetic yowl that I only barely hear, ears ringing violently.

Thick, scratchy texture covers my chest, vaguely similar to rope, and in my disoriented state I clutch my chest tightly in any attempt at relief. Before I can think about tearing the wraps off in confusion, a very awake Wade clears his throat from the desk chair in the corner. He looks very tired, blue eyes red-rimmed and face drawn. "Don't take those off, Petey. You have no idea how hard it was to wrap you up the first time." He says drily, but his eyes are wide and calculating, watching me.

I take the silence in a somewhat uncomfortable stride, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and assessing the situation. My own bedroom. Good. Wade. Good. No pants. Not preferred when unconscious. Body feels like it was run over by a sixteen-wheeler. Very not good.

"Do you remember anything?" Wade asks, the desk chair creaking as he twists side-to-side. I wince, the sound scraping through my brain. Whatever happened, my powers are haywire right now, because all my senses are in overload. I doubt that not-super people would be able to hear the creaking well at all.

Wade stops moving the chair.

"What do you remember?" Wade asks again, like he's almost afraid of the answer.

I take a minute to think, my mind sore with the effort, every conceivable part of my body on fire, pulsing and pounding and thrumming in time with my soaring heartbeat.

I got Chinese food from my usual place. I ate it on the roof with Daredevil, and we caught up. He heard two different crimes; we split up and took one each. I saved a mother and her child in an alley. One of the muggers had a taser. I got tazed. Multiple times, in multiple places, and got royally beat up. It took me over an hour to stumble home. I passed out. Blearily, as if through lidded eyes, Wade's ear on my chest, and then his hands on my body to feel for breaks, probably. That hurt. He was being gentle but it hurt. My memory jumps to me on the toilet lid, suit around my ankles. Wade was mad. Scared and mad. Then I'm surrounded by shallow water, naked. My body was dark, bruised, hurthurthurthurt. Wade talking to me, still talking, telling me soft things, informative things, cleaning wounds.

Loud noises, and then... Bruce? Yes. Bruce, wrapping me in a towel. Wade talking, Bruce thinking, responding. Bruce helping Wade, stitching me, Wade worried. Bruce pointed a finger, Wade moved to the corner, still worried. Ribs wrapped, bandages stuck, needles threaded. "Thank you… thank you… thank you." Careful instructions. Wade nodding. Wade pulling up a chair. Wade saying little things. Sleep.

"Baby Boy? What do you remember?" Wade asks again, and his voice is hesitant. He watches me. I stare ahead. My eyes are wide. I must look horrible, shoulders hunched and hands between my splayed legs.

"Ev'rything." I start crying.

It isn't slow, or endearing. It is gut-wrenching and sad. A choked sob claws its way out of my sore throat, and then I'm crying.

"I couldn't tell you! I - I couldn't do that!" I scream it, my voice tapering off into something weak and ragged, a pathetic diminuendo. "Bad things happen! People - people have died, people have gotten hurt because of me. Because of Spider-Man." I cry. Clumps of tears drip from my lashes and race down my blotchy cheeks.

"I can't - I can't knowingly put people at risk like that, and - and people would've gone after you, or tortured you! Someonealways gets hurt!" I suck in a breath. "I can't tell anyone! Do you - do you know what that's like? I I had nobody who knewboth parts of my life. Nobody can know my identity because the risk - I can't… I'm so sorry. 'M sorry." The heaving sends white hot pain through my ribs and head, and then I cry even harder.

"Oh, Peter." Wade says quietly, a lament of sorts. His blue eyes are bright and soft.

I suck in greedy, burning lungfuls of air, and then Wade is beside me, gently pressing my back forward so he can wordlessly slip behind me. His arms around my chest are so gentle that they're trembling, and I cry, and cry, and cry. Anguished sobs and coughing on my tears and crying even more because of the unbearable pain in my ribs, piercing with every shuddering breath.

I cry until my breaths are short and my body is worn and shaking, until my pulse is so fast that my lip starts bleeding again, and the pain in my chest is almost blinding. I'm curled into Wade's chest, the vibrato in his sternum as he shushes me resonating against my ear. He sways slightly, his lips in my hair.

Minutes later, an hour, two hours later, his legs bracket my body and my fists clutch his hoodie, eyes wide and glassy. Wade is breathing in time with me; that's how he managed to get me to stop crying in the first place. Our bodies are positioned oddly - my head is on his sternum, so that my ribs are resting on the soft of his stomach instead of the bone of his ribs. My legs are curled and I'm situated in the V of his legs.

His fingers ghosts my spine, inquisitive, careful. "How old were you?"

"Fifteen." I whisper.

Wade curses, works at knots in my hair that come from wearing the mask. "I'm sorry you didn't have anyone. You had to be so alone in such a big part of your life at fifteen. You were a little kid."

"Yeah." I mutter, sniffling. "Wasn't all bad, though. I mean, Bruce found out later on. And Aunt May was always there, even if I couldn't tell her everything. And, well, you were there. You were nice to me. Respected me." I tell him, and he combs a hand through my hair. "'Course. You always puked patching your own cuts and you were always hungry." He laughs. I laugh too, but it hurts.

My initial adrenaline after waking up is wearing off, and my body settles into a constant dull, booming pain. My ribs sear with every breath, my face throbs, my stomach and legs and arms feel like they're tearing themselves apart. My lips are dry and the butterfly bandage tastes stale on my mouth. Sounds are reverberating dully against my skull, but not intolerable, and I thank whatever god there is that it isn't too bad.

"Hey, kid, about that. You and I need to talk about what you can and can't do, and what's up with your sensory intake."

"Yay." I hum, and Wade chuffs. "If you still wanna be all kissy-kissy with me, I have to know what to expect, Baby Boy."

I take a hitched breath, holding my ribs before nodding. "'Kay."

"Healing factor?"

"Depends. Ribs take longer, 'cause I can't not give them a break. Most bones only take a day to heal." I can already feel sleep latching onto me again, rocking me, lulling me. "One time," I say with a smile, cheek pressed into Wade's chest, "I broke my arm and it healed in three hours." I say, and it's the weirdest case of nostalgia ever.

"How about you just tell me what you think is important, and I'll ask questions from there?" Wade asks, rubbing my back. "I already know the general stuff, from palling around with you for years, but some specifics would be dandy. Just brief me, yeah?"

My senses are on the verge of going haywire, and agonizingly, I roll off Wade and onto my back beside him, grunting with the effort, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I know the pain will keep me awake for a few more minutes, and I know this is important to Wade. He turns on his side to face me, knuckles brushing mine.

"I have enhanced vision, and somewhat enhanced hearing under certain circumstances. I can cling to stuff with my hands, feet, and back. Uh. Superhuman agility, strength, balance, reflexes, flexibility…" I trail off, head pounding. Every part of my body is pulsing with pain. "I have several tons of upward pressure. My upper limit is, uh, twenty tons under extreme stress. Usually it hovers around ten tons."

Wade is silent, and I almost think I said it in my head. "Wade?"

"Several tons?" Wade blanches. I laugh, but it quickly devolves into a wheeze, gasping in pain. "Yes, Wade." I push on. "I have more durable body tissue than other humans, and I can also dodge attacks, including close-range gunfire. My metabolism is really fast, so I c'n get over the effects of roofies and drugs faster, too." I slur. Wade makes a low whistle.

"My skills are enhanced under stress or panic, but my sensory issues get infinitely worse, too. So, strength and sensory overload have a positive correlation, which, if you ask me, is shit. After a bad fight, or something disorienting, I can't even handle noise sometimes." I whisper. Wade looks like he wants to hold me, to pet me, something. But he doesn't, he just watches. "'S called sensory defensiveness. It affects the tolerance of sound, light, touch, taste, texture. It's different for different people, during different times. Different people do different things to keep it tolerable; moving and fidgeting, 'nd stuff." I shrug it off.

Wade watches me warily and I add on, "I'm usually fine. It only gets bad if something bad happens, y'know?" I physically shrug this time, which hurts.

"What caused it?"

Million dollar question, huh?

I tense, and fire rockets through my body. I drop my gaze from Wade's, and immediately regret it; now he knows something's wrong. I could've easily kept his gaze and said the problem started when I got my powers. That would be believable, and it wouldn't be a full lie, because my intake issues definitely got worse as my senses became superhuman. But it isn't why they started. I swallow around the dryness in my throat.

"Someone -" My voice breaks. I cough. Wade props himself up on his elbow, brows furrowed. He knows something's wrong. "I was fourteen. Before I was Spidey. Someone did somethin' bad to me." I stumble over my words, swallowing thickly. Wade's eyes are bright, sad and angry at the same time. He must know. "Uh, 'S fine. His name was -" I choke on it. Skip. His name was Skip. SkipSkipSkip. I want to scream it. I want to scream his name until he doesn't affect me anymore.

"Don't." Wade tells me. "You don't have'ta tell me his name, Pete." He says, watching me carefully, knowingly.

Knowingly?

"Why not?" I ask, voice hoarse.

"For one, I might feel inclined to have a chat with them." He tells me frankly, a bluffing smile, eyes spiteful, and then something warmer.

"Secondly…" Wade pauses, thinks. "Secondly, saying their name hurts."

I watch him in surprise before my face sobers.

"Yeah." I whisper.

"Yeah." He nods, swiping errant hair from my forehead. "You're okay, Sugar." Wade promises. "You're okay now. 'S all okay."

It'll hurt more if I start crying again, so I blink until no tears are left.

Wade seems to think about this, storing it away in his head. He winks at me. "Back to your wacky senses, how about you just tell me what to do when it happens, huh? And I'll do it." He says quietly, and I nod, smiling weakly. I think my lip splits open again. Hot.

Wade laughs, then. "You've got a pretty smile, Petey."

After a moment of silence, my eyes fall closed. "My body hurts."

"Go back to sleep, kid." He tells me, already pushing himself up.

"Wait, wait, 'Pool. What time is it? How long was I out?" I ask, suddenly aware that I have no clue the day or time.

"We finished patching you up at five in the morning, and it's seven at night now. Same day." He tells me. "You've been out for nearly fifteen hours." He says, and I stare.

"That's longer than I've ever slept in my life." I mumble.

"Hah; you should try getting fatally shot. That'll knock you out." Wade huffs, scratching at his head. "What?" I blanch, and Wade chuckles awkwardly, waving away my worry. I'm sure I would care more, but everything hurts and I would very much like to sleep forever.

"Did you sl'p at all?" I ask him, face pressed into the plush pillow, seconds from sleep.

"Sure did." He assures me feebly. I pull the blankets up closer around me, burrowing underneath in a warm cocoon. Even pulling the covers up sent searing pain through my arms. "Liar." I mumble, and I grapple for his arm, taking his scarred hand in mine.

"Stay."

He stays, and we sleep.

The next week is excruciatingly dull, and horrendously painful.

At first, I need help with everything; it's all impossible. I fall asleep early, and wake up late.

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday are probably the worst days.

On Tuesday, the first day after sustaining my injuries, I'm still in too much of a fog to leave the bed. My drowsiness may be partially accredited to the fact that I begged for tylenol with codeine at three in the morning, when the pain in my ribs was intolerable and I could hear every single sound in my apartment complex. Nonetheless, Wade sweeps in at noon with a plate of eggs and toast, but after a very fun round of dry heaving and my ribs attempting to leave their sockets again, we realize I can only keep crackers, water, and apple slices down. So that's all I eat. After that, Wade undresses my bandages, makes sure they're healing well, and covers my cuts again with clean ones. His hands are sure but gentle, downright careful.

At around five, the water catches up to me, and I need to pee, which is a horrible experience.

I'm in so much pain that I'm contemplating just holding it until I can take more pain medicine . When expressing to Wade that I'll just hold it and wait, he looks at me dubiously and presses two fingers to my abdomen. At this, I wheeze out something unintelligible and push his hand away, and Wade laughs. "You gotta pee, Sugar. Come on; those pain meds probably haven't worn off yet." He assures me.

"Yes, they have. I metabolize everything faster, r'member?" I groan, rubbing my eyes and working my way into a sitting position.

Wade carries me to the bathroom, because my sprained foot or ribs aren't healed enough, which is uncomfortable, and then we face a few issues.

"How do you want me to - should you just sit?" Wade asks, voice high.

"No, 'cause how would we get my pants back on?"

"Oh, right, right. Uh… I'll turn around?" Wade hums, nodding awkwardly.

"Wait, I'm gonna fall, Wade, Wade -"

Neither of us trust myself to stand for more than twenty seconds, so Wade stands paces behind me with his back turned, just in case. Meanwhile, I hold the wall with a webbed grip with one hand, and pee with the other.

To make things less (more?) awkward, Wade sings while I pee. "Listen to your heart, when he's calling for you. Listen to your heart, there's nothing else you can do." When Wade tries to simultaneously sing the piano bits, I laugh, and then go pale when I can practically hear my ribs groan.

After that far too eventful experience, I stay in bed until ten at night, where I fall asleep again. Wade wakes me at three in the morning again to take more codeine, giving me half of another pill, since I metabolized the regular dose so quickly.

I sleep fitfully, my back the only comfortable way to rest.

On Wednesday, Wade wakes me up at noon again, this time with a few more apple slices and crackers than yesterday. There's peanut butter, too. I eat slowly and don't feel sick this time. He undresses my bandages again, applies more antibacterial cream, and recovers them with clean cloth. Peeing again is less awkward this time, because Wade is able to stand outside the half-open bathroom door this time if I promise to web my hand to the wall for support. I'm balancing on one leg though, because of the sprain, which usually wouldn't be a problem, except for the fact I'm drugged up on codeine, and I got beat the fuck up.

"Do you want me to sing again?" He calls to me.

"No, Wade -" But he's already clearing his throat.

"Where have all the good men gone, and where are all the gods? Where's the street-wise Hercules to fight the rising odds? Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed? Late at night I toss and I turn and I dream of what I need!"

The pain level is at 8 instead of 10 today when I laugh at him, hobbling over to the sink and washing my hands before stumbling out of the bathroom holding my ribs.

"I need a hero! I'm holding out for a hero 'till the end of the night. He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast, and he's gotta be fresh from the fight." He cuts himself off, turning to me, a hand on my back as he leads me back to bed. "Hey,you're a hero fresh from the fight." Wade comments, holding my hand as I ease myself onto the bed.

"Yeah, except I lost the fight." I grunt, a pained sound as I adjust on the mattress.

"They tazed you, Pete." Wade says incredulously, scratching himself through his pants, which I raise an amused brow at. "Multiple times. And then beat the fuck out of you." He reasons. "It was a mugging, probably, right?"

I nod.

"Did you save them?" He asks.

"Yeah, I debilitated them long enough for the mom and kid to get away. Plus, I ended up keeping them down; they're probably in prison now."

Wade pulls the blankets up over me, leans close, presses a kiss to the tip of my nose. He smells of laundry and gunpowder. "I'm not a hero, or anything, but that kinda seems like you won."

"Hmph." I frown, but a yawn wins over, and Wade shuts the lights off and draws the shades. "You're tired. Go to bed. You heal the most when you sleep." He tells me flatly, brushing hair from my forehead. I fall asleep again before he leaves the room, and sleep through the night.

Thursday isn't fun. I wake up at noon again to find that my bruises are splotches of purples and yellows now. They're healing quickly, on par with my usual healing factor. I can't help but think that they're ugly, discolored yellow and sad purples weaving marbled patterns on my entire chest, near my lip, on my biceps and thighs. Wade is happy about this, says I'm healing. He says they look like a painter's water; old colors murky but pretty. I look at him curiously, a vexed smile on my face.

Later, I receive one egg and two slivers of bacon. There's two apple slices, cut into circles. The bacon lays between them, to resemble a penis. Wade beams at me. I laugh, and my ribs are angry at me, but not intolerable. I'm hungry, so I eat, and when my stomach protests I keep the food down anyway because I've been living off bread and apple wedges for two days, which isn't even good for a normal person. I get one tylenol with codeine pill.

The ordeal tires me out, and four hours later, I wake up in a cold sweat at four in the afternoon, a strangled scream ripping from my throat as I bolt upright. My ribs are searing and my heart is thudding so fast that I can't tell each beat apart, when Wade bolts into the room. His eyes are hard and angry, before looking around the room, seeing the locked window, and then his expression softens, though still alarmed. I pant heavily, shoulders hunched forward and hands between my splayed legs, rib bindings prominent against my chest. A tear drips onto my stomach and I swipe a hand over my face in surprise, sniffing with eyes wide.

He sits down facing me, saying nothing until I finally look up at him.

"Do you remember what you dreamt about?" Wade asks me.

Skip's face dances across my vision, smiling, sneering, confident. Either my dream of Skip are my spidey senses reminding me to be careful, or because I brought him up on Monday.

"No." I rasp, and Wade cocks his head. I'm lying. "Yes. Yes. I remember. I want to shower. I gotta take a shower." I tell him adamantly. I can feel the dirt from five years ago on me, the grime, the shame. Wade is about to give me a flat "no," before something in my eyes must change his mind. "Okay, Pete. Alright." He says it real soft, but the vein in his forehead implies otherwise. He's mad. I know he's mad; not at me, though. "Can we compromise, though?" He asks, and I watch him, waiting.

"Take a bath instead. So you're not standin'." He reasons with me, and I nod. He covers all my cuts and stitches with saran wrap so they don't get wet, and then he helps me out of bed; I can walk on my own now. Slowly, painfully, and with a limp, but on my own. Wade walks ahead, fills the tub.

On this day, Thursday, is the day I realize that any semblance of the romantic gesture of couples undressing before each other for the first time goes out the window; because not only has Wade seen me in my boxer briefs countless times, but he also took my suit off when I was unconscious and badly injured, and has now helped me into the tub. I can't say I'm too disappointed, because between the two of us, we aren't exactly a traditional couple; Wade is a scarred mercenary and I am a vigilante who wears a skin-tight suit and recently got badly injured, so there's really not much left to the imagination for us.

In a way, this is almost better, I think. There's no anxiety or nerves. Wade makes no comments about my bare ass, and I make no remarks on his skin. It's nice, given the circumstances.

I'm halfway finished with the bath. My hair is slicked back, but wayward curls spring up around my temples. Suds from lavender soap and shampoo cover the surface, and my knees stick out of the water. "His name was Skip." I tell him resolutely, and Wade clenches his jaw, nods.

Moments of silence later, he dips his finger in the water just below the surface and puts a glob of bubbles on my nose. I stare at him for a moment in incredulity before breaking into laughter, Wade chuckling along with me. "Fuck Skip."

"Fuck Skip."

Friday is much better. Much. I wake up at a reasonable time, eat a sandwich that Wade apparently convinced a deli man to deliver to the apartment, and don't feel nauseous afterwards. I even eat an entire apple for lunch. Wade snips the stitches in my eyebrow and bicep, and peels off the butterfly bandage from my lip, but leaves the line of stitches in my stomach alone. He applies fresh bandages brace on my left foot comes off; the minor but sharp residual pain should be fine in an ace wrap now.

At seven o'clock, I convince Wade that I can migrate to the living room couch, because I haven't watched television in nearly a week, and I want catch up on Criminal Minds before the next season comes out. "Are you sure? I know your ribs are still hurtin', and those bruises must be sore. You haven't even been awake this late since today…" Wade says, seems to listen to an invisible person speak for a moment before focusing back on me and sighing. "Fine. But just so you feel guilty, Dr. Smashy said you should stay in bed as much as possible." Wade says sternly, pointing a finger at me accusingly.

I pull myself into a sitting position, and grab my more casual web-shooters from the nightstand, clipping them on and smiling wide. I missed the constant presence on my wrists, missed fidgeting with their fabric. "Hello, friends." I beam, slipping on sweatpants that have been at the foot of the bed for at least a week. After I tug the pants up my waist, Wade offers me his arm. I grin, slipping my arm through his. We walk slow, ribs throbbing at the movement. "Mister Parker, might I interest you in a window seat?" He asks, gesturing to the couch.

I laugh, raising a brow, and Wade's mouth opens in an O when we realize the fort is still up. I'm healing, but I don't think I should push it and crawl down onto the hard floor.

Swiftly, Wade pulls the thick sheets off their precariously placed corners of the couch, tossing them onto the arm chair in the corner. Now that the small table is clear, I can see my suit folded neatly atop it, lacking any blood stains. His foot pushes the coffee table back several paces where it once was, and then he holds his arm out, gesturing for me to sit. I do, but wince, holding my ribs. Wade pauses, scampers into the kitchen and returns with an ice pack. With the remote, he collapses beside me, promptly turning on Netflix. "You're a neat little spider, you know that?" Wade asks me, and I give him a toothy smile. Miraculously, my lip doesn't split open. "And you're the softest mercenary I know." I retort, and he smacks a kiss to my cheek.

We watch one full episode of Criminal Minds, before my ribs start their constant ache again, bruises pressed and ribs positioned in a way that they haven't been in a week. Wade, ever observant no matter what he has people think, scoots to the far corner of the couch, and pats his lap. Within seconds my cheek is smushed against his thigh, knees curled and fidgeting the the fraying edges of the thick rib bindings. Twenty minutes into the second episode, Wade perks up. "Who's your favorite character?" He muses.

"Reid." I say without question. He was always the underdog physically, but surprises everyone with his intellect. I like how he thinks." I say after some time. "What about yours?"

"Probably JJ. Or Morgan. Partly 'because Morgan looks like a badass, but he's really a big mush who's totally soft for Reid. And JJ just kicks ass." Wade says, snorting. His fingers laced through my tangled hair, rubbing my head in a way that makes my eyelids heavy. "Tired, Baby Boy?"

"Nop." I argue, focusing on the television, Hotch debriefing the team. Really if reality was anything like this show, I'd be out of a night job. Would that even be a bad thing? I'd need to find another high-energy outlet for my abilities, but at least people would be safer.

Sparks shoot up my spine, and I shudder, eyes wide. Something's wrong. "Wade." I hiss.

A hard knock on the door startles us both, and Wade puts his fingers to his lips immediately, slipping out from under me and pressing down on my shoulder. "Stay." He mouths, and I want to argue, but I'd only hold Wade back in my state if someone dangerous is behind the door.

He shoves his hand under the sofa cushions, pulls out a scuffed black gun, and cocks the hammer.

In one swift motion, he pulls the sofa I'm on several feet out of the line of fire with one hand, which is a real testament to his strength. Wade puts his back against the wall adjacent to the door's hinges, and I roll over to press my belly against the couch cushions, head peeking past the last cushion and web-shooter trained at the door.

"Nobody's home." Wade sing-songs, finger on the trigger.

No answer.

"Don't shoot them." I whisper, and Wade gives me a hard look. "I'll shoot if they shoot." He says under his breath.

The door knob twists, and then there's the jingle of a key, before the door swings open. Wade immediately has a gun aimed at the invader, who yells indignantly, shoving the barrel of the gun away from his face. He pulls his hood down, and a very disgruntled Clint Barton is revealed.

Eyes wide, I twist my body and hastily toss my neatly folded Spidey suit under the sofa, ribs screaming in agony at the sudden harsh movement. That was close. Before collapsing again, I grab a stray sweater off the floor and quickly pull it on, covering all injuries. Except for my lip and brow, which could be explained from the scuffle on the train.

Wade tugs his own hood down, then, sucking his teeth angrily. "Man! Why didn't you answer me!"

Clint stares with wide eyes, dragging his scraped hands through scruffy blond hair. "I'm deaf!"

"Oh, yeah." Wade hums, and drops his gun to sign something with a smile. Clint rolls his eyes but chuckles, before they both turn to me again.

"Oh. Hey, Clint." I say nonchalantly, but my voice is high and strained.

"Hey, kid." Clint says, furrowing his brows.

"How - uh, how'd you get my key?" I ask, and Clint narrows his eyes at my lips before answering.

"Tony has a copy of all the interns' keys." He explains, and it doesn't surprise me.

"You know how to sign?" I ask Wade, which does surprise me. Wade nods. "I know, like, twenty languages, Petey Pie." He grins at me, and I work my way into a sitting position again, gesturing for Clint to have a seat. Wade awkwardly pulls the couch, with me on it, back where it usually is, and Clint puts the heap of blankets from the armchair back onto the table, so he can sit.

Wade sits beside me, slipping the gun back under the middle couch cushion. "What's the matter, Hawk-Guy?" Wade asks, and Clint flips him off before beginning. "NYPD detained a woman with a gun on the train you two were on. We managed to get the guy we detained - his name's Grant - to tell us that he had a partner, so the police sent her to us." Clint says, picking at a butterfly bandage on his cheekbone.

Wade raises a brow. "You didn't come here to tell us that."

"Nah, I'm just tryna' figure out how to tell you this."

Wade and I glance at each other. Uh oh, seems to be the collective thought.

"We convinced the guy that his lady partner turned on him for a plea deal; I guess she was in charge of this particular operation and we was the weaker one. Her name's Roxanne. Anyway, uh, they weren't too high up on the chain of command, but the guy gave up their organization." Clint says, and even he sounds tired.

"Tell me." Wade says.

"Weapon Plus."

I stare from Clint to Wade. Wade is silent, jaw clenched. "What is that? Wade? Who is that?" I urge, voice unwavering.

"Weapon Plus," Wade says lowly, scrubbing a hand over his face, "Is the massive conglomerate that bred the Weapon X Program, and many more." He turns to me knowingly. "A genetic testing organization that creates or enhances pre-existing mutations in whatever way possible."

Notes:

hope you liked it! I had tons of fun writing this one. Sorry (I'm not) for the cliffhanger...  
also I wrote this chapter while listening to nothing but muscle museum by muse and vision of division by the strokes because the melodies have really good repetitive cadences that are good with sensory stimulation. you folks should have a listen.

don't forget to leave comments bc comments keep the author alive! I love hearing what you liked!

ig: &

tumblr: scruffydun

Chapter 21: The Road to Recovery (And Aunt May's).

Notes:

WARNING: We meet Skip towards the end. Skip abused Peter as a boy. Skip gets what's coming to him.

THE REST OF THE CHAPTER IS A CUTE FLUFFY/SMUTTY MESS.

ALSO, go check out my poem, Bandits of Brightness! It's not my typical style, but I wrote it as a child-friendly metaphor for depression that was meant to be an eerie rhyme piece.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

WADE WILSON

After several moments of silence, Clint is the one to ignite conversation again.

One hour later, at a quarter past ten, Clint has talked everything through with us and given us instructions on how to proceed. Don't go anywhere alone, don't do anything out of the ordinary in public, memorize every odd face we see, but do not engage unless they do first. He's explaining all this for Peter's sake; I know their protocol. But, then again, so doesPeter - Clint just doesn't know his identity.

[Sneaky little spider.]

{We've gotta give him props, though. The poor little arachnid baby has had to go to hell and back to hide his identity.}

Tony apparently brought in an "interesting" lawyer that The Avengers have on retainer, and is working up a stalking and harassment case against Grant and Roxanne, and their now-named organization. Which is good, assures Clint, who frowns at a coffee stain on his thermal pajama shirt. The stalking and harassment case is good, because now Grant and Roxanne can be questioned by SHIELD personnel and kept in custody, and there'll be SHIELD agents on the lookout for their employers, now that we know that their organization is already on a mile-long lookout list accredited as a "highly dangerous, highly nebulous enemy force."

{Is the lawyer Matt Murdock?}

[AKA the sexiest Catholic devil ever?]

Most likely.

Clint leaves soon after, and Peter's worked himself up into a panic, pacing the small living room to work through his nerves. I can see now, what Bruce was mentioning; Peter has so much energy all the time. Being Spidey and swinging from buildings and kicking ass isn't only a moral responsibility, but a necessity. He has to work out his energy, or he gets fidgety and and anxious, like he has to move.

"This is bad."

"No worse than we were anticipating it to be, Peter." I assure. "We all knew it was some genetic modification corperation; now we just have a name. Granted, I'm…" I'm pissed. Furious and livid and every other goddamn synonym in the dictionary. Memories jump to my mind that I buried years ago, after Weapon X, after being tortured, and I know that Weapon Plus resurfacing is beyond dangerous. I wouldn't hesitate to drive every single branch of Weapon Plus six feet into the ground if I had the opportunity again. They could take more people, torture more people, kill more people like animals, like numberedexperiments, like slabs of flesh and bundles of nerves, and nothing more. They could take dozens of mutates, mutants, they could take Peter, or me again.

{No. Nononono.}

[Think about something else. Now. Now! ]

I don't finish the sentence, and this only seems to cement Peter's concern. "You should go to sleep, kid." I tell him, grabbing his arm the next time he passes me.

"You know, my ribs are feeling better. Maybe - maybe we could go out and patrol for a little, or find out some stuff about -"

[{Is he joking?}]

Is he joking?

"Are you joking?"

Peter stares at me, shoving his hands in his pockets like he's fully aware of how absurd his suggestion is. "Well, I am feeling a lot better, and we could maybe patrol together. I - I need to move ."

"Absolutely not." I blanch, motioning for Peter to sit down. Peter gives me a hard look and I mirror him. He holds my stare.

Stubborn little shit.

"You want to go back out?" I ask finally.

"Yes." Peter says, moving closer to the sofa to reach for his suit.

"Okay," I tell him, and when Peter looks down longingly at the webbed material, I pick up a pen from the kitchen counter, spinning it between my fingers before launching it across the room at Peter.

His superior reflexes take over and he reaches his hand up in a sharp jolt to catch the pen, inches from his nose. I knew that would happen.

Seconds later, his face contorts into a look of pain. I knew that would happen, too. He drops the bravado in favor of clutching his right side.

"Are you telling me that you can sling webs, throw and hold your body weight, and climb entirely vertical structures right now?" I ask him, deadpan. Peter tosses the pen and it skitters across the floor. I stop its path under my foot, flick it up to catch it in my hands, setting it back down on the counter.

"No." Peter murmurs under his breath.

"Say again?" I ask, cupping my hand over my ear.

"No." Peter says, more loudly, and I smile. Peter hides a quirk to his lips.

I walk over to him now, twisting his hoodie strings around my hands until our noses are inches apart, Peter leaning forward on the tips of his toes. His head is cocked in an inquisitive way, his smile daring.

"Give daddy a kiss." I joke, but Peter's eyes glint.

[Wait, what.]

"Okay." He closes the last few inches between us, pressing his lips to mine, chaste at first. He only pulls away enough for our lips to brush in something sinful, and then we clash together again, Peter's slim frame against mine, his hands gripping the back of my sweater. I slip my arm round the small of his back, pulling him close and nipping carefully at his lip, nosing along his jaw.

My teeth graze his ear and Peter's hitched breaths resonate against my neck, his fingers digging into my shoulder blades. They snag on my shirt and I pull away curiously, eyes bright. "Are your hands… sticking?" A grin ghosts my lips. Peter flushes, nods slightly. "That happens sometimes… strong emotions or feelings, and stuff." He breathes, and I laugh, taking his hands in mine with fingers intertwined, and pull him close again. He sighs into the kiss this time, drags his hands down the front of my sweater and presses himself flush against me. "You're so pretty, Petey." I croon, kissing along his jaw again, and Peter makes a breathy sound. Christ. That is heavenly.

The backs of my knees press into the sofa and I sit, Peter standing by my knees, cheeks flushed. I hold my arms out, and Peter slips onto my lap, straddling my lap with his legs curled on either side of my waist. "You're cute." I hum.

"You're cute." Peter retorts with a blush, amber eyes alight under long lashes.

"You're gorgeous." I purr, hooking my hands under Peter's thighs. Hands clutching my sweater, Peter leans in and our lips clash again, this time slower. His hands roam my chest, tentative fingers slipping under my top. I make a pleased sound, leaning forward to kiss along his collar bone, teeth skimming his neck and breath ghosting the shell of his ear. Peter gasps, arching his back sweetly.

In a single moment, I can practically hear his ribs groan, and his eyes snap open, hands fisted in my sweater as he grunts in pain. "This probably wasn't smart." He wheezes.

{Ah, yes, his ribs. He must've aggravated the healing process when he arched his back like that.}

[Way to go, fuckbag, you almost killed him. You literally just cockblocked yourself.]

{They wouldn't have had sex. Not yet. It's obvious Peter isn't ready for that, and shitstick over here is still fucked up.}

"Okay, time for bed." I say decidedly, cringing in sympathy. As if anticipating it, he wraps his legs round my waist and slips his hands around my neck, and I stand. "You're like a koala baby - or no, a spider monkey." I laugh, kissing his forehead. Peter laughs, too, but it sounds strained. "I'll be fine by morning, probably." Peter promises me. "Can you sleep here?" He asks me.

"'Course." I smile.

I rewrap his ribs, toss my hoodie off, and slip into bed beside him. I lay on my back, and Peter curls against my side and a tight ball, head buried somewhere under my arm. He falls asleep with my hand in his hair.

Saturday. Peter is awake before me.

I know this because he swan dives onto the bed from, presumably, the living room, and lands on top of me excitedly, my eyes snapping open with an oof. His beaming face is inches from mine. "Morning." He says, and I grin, peering down to find him fully clothed in light jeans, torn at the knees, and an oversized black thermal henley, the only three buttons popped open. His socks are mismatched and his hair is wet. His sleeves are rolled up, and his leather-bound web-shooters are clasped securely on his wrists.

"Good mornin', Sugar." I laugh, reaching up to button the henley.

"I'm feeling a lot better." He tells me proudly, palms splayed on my chest to keep himself propped up.

"I can tell." I say. "Can I tell you a secret, Petey?" I ask him then, and he leans in real close.

"I knew you were Spidey a few days before you got hurt." I tell him, and he stares at me confusedly, thinking back. He doesn't look surprised. "Did you hear me talkin' to Bruce in the bathroom?" He asks, and I nod.

"Wait," he says, smile dancing across his lips. "So, on the train, when I was trying not to show my strength, you -"

I nod, a laugh bubbling in my throat. "Did you think I would just brush off a scrawny nineteen year old throwing 230 pounds of muscle into the train wall?

"And when I almost broke the subway platform bench."

"Definitely noticed that." I wink, wriggling under him.

"And when you kept making those references to spiders and Spider-Man, and when you asked if I used the roof when we were chasing Grant outside of the train station!" He accuses, eyes wide.

I burst into a fit of laughter, and Peter hits my arm lightly. "Wade!" He laughs. "I could've knocked Grant out before he kneed me in the crotch if I didn't have to act normal!"

"Well, you healed." I reason, giggling. "Eventually. Musta hurt, though, huh?" Peter tries to scrunch his nose in disappointment but he just starts laughing with me.

"Remember," I say around my laughter, swiping a tear away, "Remember when, a few years ago, we were fighting, and you tackled me off the roof?" Peter rolls off my chest in a mess of laughter, laying down beside me. "Because you threw a burritoat me. My suit is hand-wash only!" Peter argues, but it only makes me laugh more.

We lay there in the aftermath for a moment, giggling happily, before Peter swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, tugging the blankets off me. "C'mon. It's Saturday and we gotta go to the store to get stuff for Aunt May's tomorrow." He tells me matter-of-factly. In under a second, Peter drops to the ground, digging for shoes under his bed. He returns with simple baby blue converse, scuffed beyond recognition, and sits at the foot of the bed to put them on.

{Uh-oh.}

[Forgot about Aunt May's.]

"You sure she knows who's she's inviting into her home?" I ask.

Peter holds both laces in one hand and turns to me. "She knows you're a mercenary. She knows you saved me. She probably knows that I like you, and she trusts Tony Stark, who also said you saved me." He says, returning to double knot his shoes. "She knows."

Resolving and taking his word for it, I get out of bed, rifling through my duffel bag and finding dark jeans, taking off my sweats and tugging the denim on.

"Wait." Peter blurts, narrowing his eyes at me. Eyes wide, I hold the waistband around thighs, raising my brows.

"Are those Spider-Man underwear." He deadpans, and I look down.

"Yes." I say flatly.

Peter thinks about this, looks at the front of my boxer briefs again, back up at me. "Alright." He says.

[{He's trying to kill us.}]

[Hooo boy, this kid.]

"Are you trying to be attractive right now, or…" I wave in his general direction, and Peter smiles, grabs his black-framed glasses off the nightstand and pushes them up his nose.

Scampering to the bathroom, I piss, wash, and brush before sauntering out and pulling on a red thermal and dark hoodie over it, stepping into my boots. "You still look like a nerd art student." I tell him, and he sticks his tongue out at me, grabbing a cargo jacket from his closet and shrugging it on. "There's a market two blocks away." He tells me, and looks around for something before frowning.

"What're you looking for, Baby Boy?"

"My longboard, but I'm pretty sure there's a bullet hole in it from the Tower shooting. Maintenance probably tossed it already." Peter frowns, sighs, and shrugs, slipping his hand in mine.

[Buy him a new longboard.]

{I second that.}

The walk to the store is brisk even for November, and I busy myself by daring Peter I can jump farther than him, and Peter proceeding to prove me wrong. I haven't seen his ribs bother him once today so far.

I grin at how spritely he is, pretending to open the automatic doors with sheer willpower, laughing at his own joke.

"You're a good one, Webs." I say fondly.

"Hope so." He remarks.

The market is pretty big, a bit run down, but big. Peter grabs a cart and we proceed to stroll around the store. He grabs the ingredients to bake two pies, apple and pumpkin, and a gingerbread scented candle. Lastly he tosses eggnog into the cart because, "she's lying when she says she doesn't like it."

We're heading towards checkout when Peter perks up. "I wanna get her one of those little succulents."

"A cactus?" I ask, amused.

"She has a collection. They're kinda cute." He explains, and we're two aisles away, placed on crates along a wall of windows, are dozens of colorful cacti. I take over steering the cart for him, and he walks beside the narrowed end.

"So, after that, we should be done. I hope the eggnog doesn't go bad -" Someone turns a sharp corner and our cart crashes into theirs, Peter colliding with the person.

"Oh, sorry about that - Peter?"

Peter whips his head up from his jostled cart, and his eyes go hard, staring wide at the man in front of us. Peter reels back so quickly that his back hits my chest, and I put a hand on his shoulder in support.

Not good.

The man is taller than Peter but shorter than me, wavy white-blonde hair brushed back. His eyes are a pale, icy blue. He's older than Peter, too, by a few years. He's stereotypically handsome; a classic handsome. He's watching Peter with amusement, but Peter… Peter looks sick.

"Remember me, Pete?" He says, eyes bright, a shit-eating grin on on his charming face.

Wait.

{Wait, wait, wait.}

Last Monday, I asked him what had caused his sensory intake problems. He said it started when someone did something bad to him years ago. It didn't take a genius to know what something bad meant. Thursday, when Peter woke up from that nightmare, he finally worked up the courage to utter the person's name.

"Baby Boy? Who's this?" I ask, trying to work the anger out of my voice, coming out soft and clipped.

Peter says nothing. They stare at each other, the man's eyes cool and calculated and Peter's wide and guarded and glassy.

"Well…" The man says, tearing his eyes away from Peter to regard me, a wry smile on his face. He stares distastefully at my scars before shrugging it off and holding his hand out to shake. "My name's Skip." He tells me. Skip.

Oh, pal, you're going to wish you never met me.

I shake his hand, jaw tight. I squeeze tightly and grind his knuckles together. He hisses and pulls his hand away, but chuckles and plays it off when I smile, eyes trained on Skip. "Well, I'm Wade."

{You look mildly terrifying.}

Good.

"So, how've you been, Peter?" Skip asks, charm radiating off him in superficial tendrils. Peter opens his mouth. Shuts it. I can hear his quick breaths; the pulse in his neck jumps. His hands come to clasp together at his front, subconsciously covering himself, guarding himself.

Guarding himself.

I take a deep breath, dig my nails into my palms until they bleed to keep my composure. For the third goddamned time, Wade and Deadpool have conflicting agendas that align in one single point. Wade: Comfort Peter. Deadpool: Kill Skip. Both: Peter.

"Ah, c'mon, Pete. I know you remember me. You have to." Skip says, cocking his head knowingly, as if exchanging friendly banter. "I know I remember you." He hums, and his eyes trail down his frame.

Peter's eyes widen in fear, and I can practically imagine every old memory flooding his mind. He holds his stare with wet eyes for one final second before making a strangled sound, ducking past me sprinting out of the market.

I turn my head to follow Peter, and grind my teeth when he shoves himself out of the door and dry heaves on the ground. He pulls himself up in anguish, hands fisted in his hair as he crouches to the ground, face red.

[Go after him!]

No. Then Skip wins again. Peter would hate that.

"Oh, God." Skip says, feigning concern. "Is he okay?"

I close my eyes for a brief moment, taking a breath. When I turn my head slowly back to him, a look of alarm flashes across Skip's face before he regains his usual confidence. Gotta make this quick.

I step close. He steps back. I step closer, grab him by the preppy shirtfront and slam him into the rack of hair products, teeth gritted and face inches from his. His eyes are wide now, but that smile, that condescending smile is still there . I'm glad the store is relatively empty.

"Skip, now, I have a question for you." I tell him.

"Shoot." He says.

I chuckle, brushing dust from his shirt. "Oh, don't tempt me." Skip's smile falls for a moment before I continue.

"Anyway, have you heard of Deadpool?" I ask, brows raised inquisitively, cocking my head in question, pressing closer.

He scoffs, rolls his eyes and looks to the side. "Of course. Master mercenary, skilled with a blade and gun, deadly to people who wrong him or something he stands for -" He stops in his tracks, stares back at me in panic.

I grin wide. "You catch on quick!" I pride him, patting his cheek. "But, hey, I'm just a normal guy, yanno? As a normal guy, I protect people I care about, and protect people who did nothing wrong. However, as a mercenary, I will personally neuter you if you even think of antagonizing Peter, or anyone else, again." I tell him lowly, and I know he's scared, but he swallows thickly, and says, "Listen, you're in my space."

Oh. Oh, this is gold. It's gold, really. My blood is boiling.

My eyes widen, and I reel back a bit, hands still fisted in his shirt. "I - Oh, I'm in your space?" I ask apologetically before pulling him forward and up, his tip toes skimming the floor. "You'd know all about being in people's space, huh?" I snarl.

He's breathing heavy now. "I know people like you; insecure with their own sexuality or sexual abilities so they dominate someone younger, scared, defenseless, to reassure yourself, to garner power. You must've waited weeks before this kidtrusted you, befriended you, looked up to you. " I growl, twisting his shirt in my grip. "If you ever find yourself in the same store, or even in the general vicinity as Peter, I want you to turn your ass around and leave. Drop your shit and leave immediately. You will not touch him, condescend him, trigger him, hint at your presence, or hurt him again. Sure, I'll make your life hell if you do, but you don't know Peter anymore. He is very capable of defending himself. Very." I grin, and at this point, Skip is about ready to piss himself.

"Or maybe I'll just get you thrown in prison. Criminals hate your kind. A pedophile won't last a day in prison." I promise him, and set him back down in his feet roughly. He stumbles.

I still have a grip on his shirt. "Watch your ass, Skip."

He's shaking slightly, I think. "Now," I smile kindly, a grin between two pals, and smack a kiss to his cheek. He squeaks. "Get outta here, kid!" I chuckle, shoving him toward the door. He runs.

"Toodles, Skip! Always a blast!" He's out the door in four seconds flat.

I've been in here three minutes since Peter ran outside. He must be terrified; fuck, his senses must be going haywire. I glance out the window and curse worriedly when I don't see him.

I grab the prettiest cactus I see, put it in the cart, and pay. Thankfully, there was no line, and I'm out the door in another minute. I narrow my eyes and peer down all four blocks I can see, before I hear panting. I look down.

[Just fucking stab me in the heart already.]

Peter sits crouched on the floor, breaths ragged and unsteady. His head is downturned but I know his eyes are red.

I reach out a hand, touch his shoulder.

Peter makes an surprised sound, jumping at my touch and standing hurriedly, angry eyes alarmed. I drop the groceries on the ground and hold my hands out. "Hey, Webs. 'S just me." I tell him quietly, and he already looks regretful for pushing me away. "Can I touch you?" I ask him, going back to the rules he'd established when I only knew him as Spider-Man.

The guarded jade in his eyes slowly dissipates, and he looks at me with anger at himself.

No. That's bad. He can't think this is his fault.

With a half-scream in frustration, Peter punches the hard plastic bike stand. A distinctly fist-sized dent remains. His hand is unscathed.

He's not crying; he just looks angry and annoyed. He steps into my arms. I wrap my arms round him tightly, his frantic heartbeat against my chest. "I couldn't say anything." He mumbles.

"I know."

"That was torture." He whispers. "I - I - everything he was saying, it - it was like I was fourteen and he was - fuck."

"I know." I tell him, running a hand through his hair. "I had a nice chat with him, though." I promise, and Peter laughs. Good. Laughing is good; the incident didn't fuck with him too badly.

He stiffens against me then, pulls away. I turn to look where he is, and my eyes harden. "Look, he must've forgot where he parked; he's holding his keys. He looks terrified." Peter says.

"That might've had something to do with me." I narrow my eyes.

Peter takes a deep breath, and he looks more determined than scared now. He sniffs, rolls his shoulders. Before I can ask, he's walking over to the end of the block to Skip, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around to face each other. I can't hear them, but Skip is immediately stepping away from Peter, and Peter just holds his hand out. Skip looks confused, but takes his hand to shake. At this, Peter pulls him in close and knees him in the groin.

"Oh!" I cheer, "There was definitely some super strength in that! That's my boy!" When Skip doubles over, he slams his elbow between his shoulder blades.

Peter scampers back to me. I whistle, slinging my arm over his shoulder. We grab one grocery bag each. "Feelin' better, Sugar?"

"Much. He can't fuck with me anymore."

"No, he fucking can't." I tell him.

At the stoplight, I turn to him. "You gonna be okay, Petey? Just 'cause you know he can't control you now doesn't mean you can't still be scared of the past." I warn him. He looks at me thoughtfully, nodding. "I can't - I can never forget the shit he put me through. What he did will still scare me at night, make me think twice before getting close with people. But he doesn't scare me in the present anymore. I'll tell you when I'm scared. I'll tell you when I'm not okay or hesitant about something. But right now, I'm okay." He promises, and I could fucking kiss him right here.

"Let's go make some pies." He laughs, and I groan. "A man after my heart."

{Hey, readers! Check out the end notes for information about Skip if you didn't know who he was!}

Notes:

wow, two updates within a week of each other!  
hope you liked that!  
DON'T FORGET TO LEAVE COMMENTS AND KUDOS!  
ig: &  
tumblr: scruffydun

Now TW for pedophilia mention: Steven "Skip" Westcott was introduced in a one-shot Spider-Man comic published in 1984. Technically, he was Peter's first villain; a pedophile several school grades above him. In the comic, Spidey rescues a boy who's babysitter was sexually harassing him, and when he's too scared to tell his parents, Peter discloses a story of his own sexual assault in the hopes of making the kid more comfortable. He was a young student when Skip befriended Peter, taught him adult things, gained his trust, and then molested him. We don't know the extent of the harassment, though, but Peter recounts feeling scared, guilty, and dirty.

Chapter 22: BADASS SMUT PLAYLIST

Chapter Text

HI.

Before you shit bricks in the comments, my dears, the next chapter is coming shortly, and I think you'll like it a lot.

HOWEVER, I MADE A NEW SPIDEYPOOL PLAYLIST!

THIS TIME IT'S A SMUT/BADASS FIGHT PLAYLIST.

these are the songs I commonly listen to while writing fight scenes or smut scenes for them!

listen to it on 8tracks "HERE!"

Name: Webs.  
Description: the ultimate badass spideypool smut playlist for the ages, created in mind for two genetically enhanced fighting boys.

Don't forget to like and favorite it!

Chapter 23: Aunt May.

Notes:

it's simple, but i'm really proud of this chapter. it's in Aunt May's POV and there are some very sweet conversations and domestic fluff.  
i think you folks will like it ;)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

MAY PARKER

From the kitchen sink where I am, I can see the boys standing outside the door before they knock.

Peter - my god, he grows more every day, is handing the taller man, Wade, a beautiful cactus, adjusting two tins in his own arms. Wade has a thermal shirt on, his hood up. Peter has shirt with the graphics "Stay Gold, Ponyboy," on it, except "gold" is written in its periodic table name, in gold lettering. Both their jackets are unzipped, despite it being winter, and I internally chide them.

Wade keeps adjusting his shirt, his face not exactly visible, and Peter keeps twisting the cuffs of his shirt down lower over his wrists, probably trying to hide those web-shooters that he doesn't think I know about.

Really, any aunt would be oblivious if she didn't notice her boy's hands suddenly start sticking to things, and YouTube videos of a new and amazing Spider-Man appearing soon after. I finally hear a rhythmic knock-knock-knock at the door, and smile knowingly.

I open the door with bright eyes. "Peter!" Wade takes the pie tins and I pull Peter close, hugging him tightly. He's much taller than me now, his chin atop my head. "Missed you, Aunt May. Sorry it's been a little while." He mumbles, and I hit his back lightly. "You're here now, dear, that's alright."

Peter takes the tins and cactus into his own arms again knowingly, and I smile at Wade. "Don't think you're getting out of a hug, young man." I chide, and I pull him to me in a hug, which, after a stiff moment, he reciprocates. Peter watches with wide eyes before slipping inside excitedly.

"'S nice to meet you, ma'am." Wade says thickly, grinning.

I cup his cheeks happily. They are scarred. He looks beyond nervous. "Call me May, Wade." I tell him, and he nods briefly before following me in.

"We got you a cactus, and made you pies." Peter says excitedly, and I see a giddy seven-year-old Peter in my head, whiskey eyes alight and toothless smile wide. "I take the cactus from Peter and place it on the windowsill by the sink, and peel back the tin on the pies happily. "They smell wonderful, dears! Did you cook them yourselves?" I ask, because Peter is a lackluster cook.

Peter says "yes!" immediately and cheerily, but I turn to Wade and he cringes. When Peter scurries to put the pies in the fridge, I lean close to the taller man.

"How bad was it?"

"Well, May, I think there's still flour in my nose." Wade says lowly, and I laugh before covering my mouth, slapping Wade on the arm. Wade grins. "They're perfectly edible, though. Promise. And Petey's real proud of 'em." He tells me, and I think that I like Wade very much.

"Well, dear, I'm certainly impressed." I tell them both, fixing Peter's mess of hair when he approaches us again. "One's apple, and the other is pumpkin." He beams.

"I know you hate shopping. It must have been a bother to get the groceries for the pies." I tell him in thanks, but Peter's jaw clenches, and Wade stays silent, watching Peter carefully. "It was - it was no problem, Aunt May. I - I didn't mind at all." He tells me, and he smiles, but everything about his attitude betrays him.

I worry for him ever since Spider-Man became prevalent in the media - he stopped confiding in me out of fear of putting me at risk. Not being there for my struggling boy who I raised as my own is not only exasperating, but painful to watch. I trust in the fact that Peter will tell me when he's ready, but stay torn over whether I should just tell him that I know his identity to save him some heartache.

I'd bet money that Wade knows Peter's identity, though. Probably because Peter is abysmal at keeping it a secret.

When peter hears the oven beep, he drops out of the conversation and tends to the lasagna, pulling the handle and narrowing his eyes at the oven's contents, fumbling for an oven mitt. "Peter Benjamin Parker. Will you at least tell me why you got so tense all of a sudden -"

"Skip." He says succinctly, back turned as he sets the lasagna on top of the stove to cool.

Skip. I don't condone violence, but I wouldn't mind bashing something over his head.

I glance at Wade. "Wade, dear. Anything you'd like to share?" I hum, and Wade stares with wide, innocent eyes.

"Oh, Skip, great guy. He's a real charmer; the way he pissed his pants and whimpered before running away really just radiated power." He says. "Or, so I've heard." He shrugs, and Peter does something akin to a laugh. "Not that I've met the guy, or threatened to neuter him, or ruin his life, or anything." Wade scratches the back of his neck.

I narrow my eyes at Wade and he winks before clearing his throat. "Uh, so, May, d'you need any help?" He asks. I smile at him; such a gentleman.

"Actually, boys, you could set the table for me, hm?" I ask, and Peter is already throwing open the cupboard and grabbing three plates, plus serving platters. In the dining room, I clean off the table, Peter and Wade balancing plates, placemats, cups, napkins, and utensils in their hands.

As I drag a cloth over the table and watch in amusement at their attempt to only make one trip, Peter slips. Wade's hands are full, and the three dinner plates fly out of Peter's grip. He stifles his surprised yelp, balances the cups he was holding in the crook of his elbow, and throws his hand out, webbing the plates before they hit the floor. Wade, bless him, does his best to step in front of Peter casually, so I wouldn't see their antics.

And, really, with a nephew like Peter, I'd have to be dense not to realize he was Spider-Man.

The boys regain their composure, rip the webs off the plates haphazardly, and shuffle over to the table with their faces hot and eyes wide. I look up at them as if for the first time, smile. "You could have made two trips, you know." I chide, and Peter huffs out a laugh, Wade coughing awkwardly. "It was no big deal." Wade promises, and I hum in acknowledgment, hiding a smile by ducking my head a bit. Wade cocks his head, furrows his brows at me in thought. Peter is unaware, tossing mats on the table and covering them with plates.

Perhaps Wade has an inclination that I know Peter's identity; he is a mercenary, after all, and he must rely on his instincts and intellect. He sets one cup down at each place setting, and replaces the forks on the left of the plate, correctly, after Peter put them on the right. Impressive. He folds the napkins and tucks them beside the plates, and sets the knives on the left.

I leave them in the dining room and pick up the lasagna from the stove top, setting it in the center of the table. Peter grabs the bowl of salad from the fridge, setting it beside the lasagna. "Grab bowls, Wade?" Peter says distractedly, and as if he's memorized the layout of the kitchen already, seamlessly opens the correct cupboard, scooping up three bowls. Wade must be aware of his surroundings at all times, if he's been trained as a mercenary. He and Peter work cohesively together, something I haven't seen so effortlessly since he and Harry were friends.

Wade sets one bowl atop each plate, grabs the pitcher of water from the counter, and sets it down on the table. "Anything else, May?" Wade asks me, and I smile at him. "No, dear, you and Peter go wash up for dinner now." I tell them kindly, and Peter scampers off to the bathroom, gesturing for Wade to follow. I wash in the kitchen before sitting down at the table, which is when I hear a surprised gasp from the bathroom. "Wade." Peter hisses, before the sound of water splashes to the floor, faucet on. Wade laughs, and then someone slips on the surely wet floor, and then they scurry out of the bathroom.

Peter's hair is wet at the front, and there's a streak of water down his shirt. Wade's shirt has water droplets on the entire front of his sweater, and he's grinning.

"Behave, boys." I admonish, taking in that they clearly had a water fight before remembering to wash their hands. "There better not be water on my bathroom floor."

"Nuh-uh." Peter shakes his head. "No water, Aunt May." He gives me a toothy smile, and my heart aches. He looks so much like his mother, and yet so much like Ben. Peter has always had Ben's smile, and his mother's eyes. Such a happy boy, but a sated layer of sadness in him. I would know - aunt's are wonderful at noticing when their boys are sad. Wade, similarly, look sad, too, when nobody is watching. In both boys, this is very subtle, almost imperceptible; but there nonetheless. I sit across from Wade and Peter, Wade on the left and Peter the right.

The pitcher is closest to Wade, and he pours everyone cold water. Peter slices the lasagna and serves us all a hefty piece, and Wade looks like he'd like to marry it.

Eating is essentially a religious experience, since apparently Peter and Wade's idea of eating well is, "We ordered tacos. And Peter ate an apple a few days ago."

Once the boys stuff their mouths full with healthy food, Wade leans back with his hands clasped over his still-flat belly, Peter smiling lazily in content. "Peter was right - you truly are an incredible cook, May. Thank you. Real great." He grins, raising his cup to me before downing the rest of his water.

"Thank you, dear, I'm glad you both liked it." I smile, setting my fork down. "And, Wade, truly, thank you for saving my boy. You are a good man, Wade." I tell him, and he smiles like he's sad. His ice blue eyes look down and his scarred hands pick at his place mat. Peter watches him; his own hazel eyes settling on Wade's face before they look down, a tentative, nostalgic smile on his face. He puts his hand over Wade's, his jaw clenching. They are sad, together. They fight, together. They laugh, together. They save, together.

They simply are, together.

I will never know the mind of a hero, of a vigilante, of a mercenary with golden morals despite the world saying otherwise. I will never know their heart or their struggles. I will never know the weight of the world on their shoulders, the thought of all the people they couldn't save, all the sights they've seen.

I will never know the allies they've made, how thick the friendships they've woven are, how heavy their hearts are when they lay quiet at night. These men and women, normal, unassuming, who save and protect and defend without the pride of police officers.

"You are welcome here, Wade Wilson." I tell him.

Wade looks utterly stricken, and Peter looks like he understands this.

I will never know their struggles, but I'll damn well be there for them when they need safe haven.

"You're real sweet, May. I can see where Petey gets it. I appreciate it." Wade really smiles, now. "And you cook like a worldstar chef." He says, gesturing to the half-empty lasagna dish. "Which Petey does not get from you." Wade admits, and Peter's eyes widen indignantly, hitting Wade's arm.

"Oh, love, Wade's right." I laugh, covering my mouth. Peter looks like he's about to start pouting, but he can't help but bursting out into a laugh. "Okay, but the pies are good! I promise!" Peter assures, and Wade nods. "He's right. Scout's honor, they're good pies." Wade chuckles.

I wipe a tear from my eye, my laughter subsiding. "Well, boys, clear your plates, and we'll get to those pies. I'm trusting you, Wade, that Peter didn't poison us." I say, eyebrows raised.

Peter shrugs. "The extent of my cooking is instant ramen, and mac & cheese. There's no shame in that."

We all clear our plates, and wash our hands, and Wade takes out the pies, curling back the tin foil. "Peter, dear, could you take the garbage out before we start?" I ask him sweetly, and Peter nods, hefting the trash bag out of the garbage bin and tying it tightly.

"Want me to come?" Wade asks, and I hum in thought. "Peter's a big boy, Wade, he'll be right back." i promise. Peter narrows his eyes but heads out the door anyway.

Wade takes a resigned seat back at the table, setting the pies down before taking a long swig of water.

"I know Peter's identity." I say bluntly, sitting back down at the table across from Wade.

Wade's eyes widen, chuffing out water as he coughs surprised, regaining his composure and wiping Water from his mouth and shirt. Residual coughs wrack his body as he stares at me.

"Uh, jeez, May, warn a guy before you drop something like that." Wade splutters, running his hands over his head. "Why haven't you told Peter that?"

"Have you met my boy? It needs to come from him. He needs to tell me, or he'll feel guilty for years about me confronting him." I tell him, and he's about to argue, but seems to agree.

"How d'ya even know?" he asks next, glancing at Peter at the back of the house, tossing the trash in the outside bin and then scanning the outside of the home.

"Oh, please, hun." I scoff. "We have a few moments; Peter makes sure the perimeter of the house is safe every time he comes here."

"Is it story time?" Wade asks.

"Well," I say, sipping my water, "Peter used to have a sleepwalking problem as a young boy. He continued to sleepwalk after he got his abilities." I tell Wade pointedly. Wade cocks his head in confusion.

"He would walk on the walls, Wade." I tell him flatly, and Wade's mouth parts slightly, brows raised. "Okay. Well. That's - that's kind of adorable." Wade admits, and I huff out a small laugh.

"Not to mention, my Peter is horrible at keeping secrets. I mean, you knew before he told you, too, didn't you? I bet that's right." I say pointedly. Wade nods curtly. "You're right."

"Plus, I vividly remember a youtube video three years ago where Peter saved a child from oncoming traffic, before swinging himself down to the ground to return the child to her parents. Upon being asked his name by a bystander, Peter shot his webs out, and started swinging away, shouting, 'Me? My name's Peter-Man! Shoot, no, Spider-Parker - no, shit, Spider-Man!' Before swinging off and only barely avoiding slamming into a building. It was deleted the next day." I say flatly, and Wade stares at me for a moment before his lips curl in a smile. He laughs, really laughs, and his eyes are a bit sad.

"He only had his powers a few months at that point, probably." He hums, rubbing the nape of his neck in stress. "Poor kid." He sighs before continuing.

"He's not good at hiding it yet. He's… he's a baby in this world, ma'am. He is a child in this vigilante and hero world, and he is doing very adult things, and is very good at them, and is saving thousands of people. He thrives on this, and the people of New York do, too." Wade says adamantly, and, goodness, they know each other. The must have been close before they met a few weeks ago, perhaps as their alter-egos.

I watch him. He's turned to Peter outside, who's back is turned to us, strolling outside with his head upturned to the sky in thought.

He watches that boy like he hung the stars. Like his smile makes the sun rise each morning and his hands shaped the planets. Like his eyes outshine the Northern Lights.

"You care for him, don't you, dear?" I ask, and Wade looks up at me, eyes bright.

"I do."

"You two are good for each other. I know that much. What I don't know, I trust Peter. And Peter trusts you. So, I trust you with Peter." Wade is watching me desperately, like he's confused, and scared I'll change my opinion on him.

"You're a sweet boy, Wade. A good man."

Wade looks torn by this, like he would like to interject, but Peter comes in. Wade is still watching me.

"Can - can we have pie now? Did I miss something?" Peter asks, closing the back door behind him softly, watching us carefully.

I smile assuredly at Wade, and he pulls his eyes away from me to look at Peter, smiling. "I'll get the plates."

Notes:

hope you liked that! don't forget to leave comments! also, the next chapter will have a bit more action...

also, i'm very fucking thrilled because i finally started testosterone yesterday! yay! sorry i'm just so excited.

okay, anyway:

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Chapter 24: Drive-By.

Notes:

what! two updates in under a day! wow.

this has some action in it. it's kinda hot, kinda scary, kinda cute.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

PETER PARKER

We help Aunt May wash the dishes, say our goodbyes, which consisted of several cheek-pinches, and finally left four hours later.

It's nearly dark by the time we start our walk home, the sky bruised shades of purple and orange. Hands fit like puzzle pieces, fingers intertwined, we walk side-by-side, shoulders bumping occasionally.

When we cross to the next block after Aunt May's street, I see a large idled truck, double-parked. The windows are tinted, which is odd for a commercial eighteen-wheeler. My eyes narrow in an attempt to focus my senses. I can't be sure, but I think there's only one person in the truck. My spidey-senses aren't alarming me, but the truck unsettles me.

"Wade." I say quietly.

"Is that truck weird to you, too?" He asks me, and we continue to walk normally, paying no attention to the parked truck several feet behind us now. "Yeah." I tell him. "There's no reason for it to be here."

"I memorized the truck already, doll. You tell me right away if your spidey-senses freak the fuck out. Otherwise, we just have to keep walkin'." Wade says cooly.

I nod distractedly.

"Your aunt is a peach, Petey. She's real nice." Wade says brightly, changing the subject and I smile.

"I told you she'd like you. Did she give you the threatening parent talk when I went to take out the trash?" I ask worriedly, remembering me entering to Aunt May and Wade talking sternly.

"Oh." Wade hums. "No, Sugar. We were just makin' small talk." He promises me, and I nod. "I'm glad you guys got along. She really likes you, y'know? She doesn't lie about that stuff." I say, and Wade leans closer to press a kiss to my forehead.

We continue to take a different route home, just to be safe, and find the late stages of a block party taking effect one block away in the distance - parents out on their front lawns, talking with other neighbors and tending to their grills, sipping beers, the woman chatting around various tables placed outside. Kids are playing soccer and tag and hide-and-seek, running across the street and through their neighbor's yards excitedly. Thankfully, this is a backstreet, and doesn't get much traffic, because the kids are paying no mind to whether cars are coming or not, nor are the parents.

"You ever get sleepy after you eat, Pete?" Wade asks, rubbing a hand over his belly.

I scrunch my nose in thought. "Not really. I usually have even more energy after I eat, since my abilities work their best after good sleep or food." I shrug. "But warm milk will knock me out in seconds, so I can relate a little." I reason.

After a few moments of rambling, the truck is less than one block behind us, and the block party is one long block ahead of us, and then tingles shoot up my spine, jolting at the base of my neck. I shudder, grab Wade's arm mid-walk. "Something - something's wrong. Look for somethin', Wade. Something weird." I tell him frantically.

He doesn't question me, searching around him. Everything is normal. I don't understand. My senses are going haywire - something is definitely wrong, but this is just a quiet street. The normal suburban barbeque party is a block away the truck behind us yet unmoving. "I - I don't get it." I tell him, and Wade looks as confused as I am.

"Pete, are you sure you're not tired, or something? Maybe the truck is just giving you bad vibes and your spidey-senses went off?" He asks me.

I grunt in annoyance. "No, it doesn't work like that. When my senses go off, they go off for a reason, Wade…" Wade's focus slowly drifts away from me, and his eyes settle on something behind me. I trail off, turn around quickly, to see a young girl walk into the middle of the empty street, coming from the direction of the block party.

She can't be more than six, wearing a Superman t-shirt and a bow in her hair. She has very tightly curled black hair, scared eyes. Her dark cheeks are tinged pink and her eyes are red. She is right at the center of the barren street.

"She's been cryin'." Wade says before I can speak, and we run over to her from the sidewalk.

We kneel down, and Wade smiles at her. "Hi, kid. Where are you supposed to be?" He asks kindly but warily, aware that this is probably the girl that set off my spidey-senses. She doesn't answer.

"Did you come from the party?" I ask, pointing down the street. She doesn't answer.

"Who brought you here, Princess?" Wade asks her, and she looks around us in thought before returning her gaze to Wade. Again, she says nothing.

"This doesn't feel right." I murmur, and we stand again. The girl doesn't move, she just watches us.

"Let's take her to the party, and see if anyone lost her?" Wade asks me, and the girl screams. She wails, really, planting her feet firmly on the asphalt ground, eyes teary and scared.

"Damn, kid, you've got some lungs on you!" Wade hisses. "Okay, alright, we'll stay right here." Wade huffs, taking a look around us again. Nothing has changed. This is wrong.

"Maybe - maybe you can go run over and see if anyone is panicking about losing her, and I'll stay and wait with her?" I suggest, and Wade looks hesitant at first, but he starts jogging over.

I pace for a moment, raking my hands through my hair before crouching down to the little girl's eye level again. "Kid, you gotta talk. Please? Me and my friend are kinda freaking out. And we all might be in danger." I tell her, but I'm not sure how strongly she can grasp the concept of "danger" at six years old.

She says nothing to me, though she still looks scared.

"What's your name?" I ask desperately. "Please?"

She pouts at me, looks very frustrated for a child so young. "He said he'd hurt me and my papa if I told you anything." She whispers then, leaning close, and I stare at her, brows furrowed and blood running cold.

I'm so focused on her, my senses so directed on this girl, searching for anything odd, anything telling about her, that I completely disregarded focusing on the world around me.

I wasn't aware of my surroundings because I was so focused on the girl. A trap.

In under a second, my senses refocus on the world, and the massive eighteen-wheeler truck is bounding right toward us, the monstrous metal grill of the truck mere feet from colliding with us. The girl is adamant, and there's no time to move.

"Wade!" I scream roughly, and I know he turns, sees, and starts sprinting back, though he's surely on the other block now.

My instincts snap into full-gear, and I scoop the girl up in my left arm, curling her in the crook of my arm and against my left side.

I quickly brace my right side first, and hold my right arm out, planting my feet on the ground.

The lights of the truck nearly blind me.

Three feet away.

I dig my feet into the gravelly asphalt as strongly as I can.

Two feet.

I tuck the girl against my left.

And then I try to stop the truck.

The impact alone shoots pain up my arm, radiating to my shoulder and ribs and rattling my teeth. I use every last ounce of my strength, digging my feet into the ground and gritting my teeth with the effort.

The truck keeps driving, keeps pressing on, and a scream rips its way through my throat at the effort and strength I'm using. The asphalt has deep tracks in it now from where my feet had dug in, the ground breaking apart at the sheer force of two strong objects trying to stop each other.

Wade runs to me, grabs the girl from my arm, and I immediately grab the truck with both hands, face red with effort and major cracks in the asphalt from my skidding feet. It's getting closer to the block party - people are screaming, scared.

I cry out with pain, squeezing my eyes shut as I brace my feet again, pushing back on the truck. Slowly, slowly, it starts to slow down despite the driver profusely pressing on the gas. The metal of the truck creaks with my force, the tires screeching on the asphalt and the smell of burning rubber filling the air as smoke radiates from the truck.

The truck presses on the gas again, and I scream out, pushing with all my strength again, grinding my feet into the ground desperately. I drop all sensory input, block out all the noise and light and smells. The grill of the truck is severely dented from my grip, black tire marks on the ground.

The truck has progressed several feet, driving me back, and I make a shrill sound, hands burning and tears stinging my on. Come on, come on, come on, Peter. Do this. You can do this. You've got to do this. It doesn't matter that this might be the heaviest. Stop. The. Truck..

I finally put my last remaining dregs of strength into it, my head spinning and body searing with pain as I cry out. The truck finally screeches to a halt, right before the first yard's barbeque grill gets decimated.

With the truck now left with only puffs of gas, I gasp with effort as I push the the monsterous machine back over two feet, off that block.

Wade has caught up to me, and someone tearfully and thankfully takes the little girl from his arms.

"Thank you for confirming your strength! You truly are worth our time now, young spider!" Someone says, and they jump from the truck and run.

Smart. He knew I would be too tired, and Wade wouldn't leave me to run after him. The situation insured his safety and escape.

I step back, sway, and my vision blurs. Ears ringing, I feel something wet drip onto my mouth. I swipe at my nose and see crimson, cherry blood. Blankly, I hear a roar of clapping from the families at the party, hollering in their thanks to me.

I stumble forward, feet dragging. My arms feel numb, yet pulsing, burning, and I raise my hands up to my face to see blood, lots of blood on my hands. My teeth buzz with residual energy and my body feels like it's sinking into the ground. I see in tunnel vision before I collapse, and then strong arms are around me. The purple sky is the last thing I see before darkness envelopes me, my body burning.

The sound of running water is what I hear first, abrasive and harsh to my ears before I adjust to the immediate and sudden sensory intake again. I know I'm laying down on my own sofa, in my own home. That's good. My entire body is sore and burning hot. Not so good. Through hazy vision, I hold my hands up to my face. They are red and bloody and blistered, a mangled mess. They hurt, searing pain shooting through my shaking fingers and up my arms. My mouth tastes like metal.

Wade comes into my field of vision then, with a cold cloth. He swipes my hair out of the way and presses the towel to my forehead, the frigid water immediately cooling my sweltering body. "What -" My voice comes out rasped. "What happened?" I ask, blinking hard to disperse the spots from my vision.

Wade sits down on the floor beside the sofa I'm on, taking my hand in his very carefully, looking at the raw skin.

He has snowstorm eyes and cupid-bow lips. Smells of gunpowder and cherry Red Vines. Pretty.

"You - well, Petey Pie, you stopped a twenty ton truck from hitting a little girl who was being used as bait, and saved a lot of families from being in debt forever." Wade tells me, his voice blanketing instead of abrasive to my senses.

While I process this, Wade huffs. "It was a lot like that scene when Tobey Maguire stopped the train from going off the tracks with his webs. Except your face was cuter."

I narrow my eyes in confusion. "What?"

Wade thinks about this before waving his hand. "Never mind." He promises, taking the cloth from my forehead and carefully splaying it over my hands. I hiss in pain, and Wade shushes me. After several seconds the cloth no longer hurts, and is a relief to my bloody hands.

"Peter, you basically brought forty-thousand pounds to a halt and saved a little girl and a bunch of property. You kept slowing it down, and there are marks on the ground from where your feet broke through the asphalt trying to brace yourself, but you fuckin' stopped an eighteen-wheeler in half a block's time. It was, like the hottest, most badass thing I've ever seen in my entire life." He says, swiping the cloth over my hands to clean off dried blood. A pained noise escapes from the back of my throat.

"You also scared the shit out of me. Once I took the little girl from you and you could use both hands, you did better, slowed it down a little more. But I could tell you were hurtin'. You held onto the truck's grill so hard that the metal bend and your hands blistered, and the ground bat hot rubber on it because you were stopping the truck so quickly even though he driver kept goin'." He tells me, removing the now-pink cloth.

"Not only that," he proceeds, his voice dulcet, his hands running through my hair, "but after you stopped it, you pushed it away. And then you got all wobbly, and your nose started bleedin', and you passed out. I got scared." Wade mumbles, watching me softly, worriedly.

"So then I carried you five blocks home and nearly pissed myself in panic." He tells me bluntly, and I laugh. He laughs too. His laugh is the color of honey, the sound of whiskey. Good. Reassuring.

When sensory defensiveness has been such a prevalent part of my life, it's calming to associate sound to color, in an attempt to disarm the noise.

"You laugh like honey." I murmur, without really thinking it through. Wade cocks his head at this. "Really?" He asks, instead of questioning it.

I nod tiredly, muscles searing. "And sound like whiskey. 'S nice." I hum, pulling my hands up to see again. No more blood, but the skin is raw and fleshy, a bare, angry pinkish-red that makes me uncomfortable. They sting.

My body feels like, well, like I stopped an eighteen-wheeler.

"I'm sleepy." I tell him flatly, and Wade smiles at me. "Yeah, I bet. Don't you worry your pretty little butt; you'll be better by morning." Wade says, and he's right. The smaller blisters are already healed. The meat of my palms and fingers are nearly shredded, though, and I whine.

"'S okay, Baby Boy. You did good." He tells me, and the pride I feel and the warmth in my belly tells me that I really did do good, that it'll really be okay in the morning.

I don't want him to leave, and I don't think he does either, so he stays on the floor, rests his head on my stomach, one arm wrapped over my abdomen, the other splayed over my heart.

Moments of blissful, content, warm silence pass before Wade mumbles against me, "But, okay, that was really hot. Scared for your life, but really hot."

I laugh.

Notes:

hope you liked that! i had A LOT of fun writing the truck scene. like, a lot.

LEAVE COMMENTS BC THE AUTHOR LOVES FEEDBACK.

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Chapter 25: Yikes.

Notes:

I am so sorry this took so long. Between working on college applications, working through my mental state, and lacking motivation, i've had a lot going on.

BUT! This chapter sets up the next part of the story, and I'm pretty proud of it!

ALSO, WE HIT 60,000 READS! THANK YOU SO MUCH - I'M SO GLAD YOU ALL LIKE MY STORY.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

WADE WILSON

I wake up in surprise with a stiff neck, and a pretty boy with honey eyes staring down at me owlishly. A perfect sight.

His eyes and nose are the only things I can see from the corner of the couch, but Peter is watching me lazily, tiredly.

Blearily, I realize I must've passed out on the floor by the couch after falling asleep with my head on Peter. As much as a privilege it is to sleep next to the little spider, his creaky floor is not comfortable. At all.

Then, slowly, slower than is probably smart considering I'm supposed to be protecting Petey, I shake the sleep off me.

[OW.]

{Ow. Ow, Ow, Ow.}

[Bad skin day.]

My skin burns. Regeneration at such a fast, constant pace, fucking hurts. It hurts all the time, actually; it's just that sometimes, it bearable. And sometimes, it isn't. In some fucked up way, I might be lucky - years ago, my skin used to hurt this badly every single minute of every single day. There was no comfortable way to sit, no painless place to touch, becauseeverything hurt. Clothes felt like fire, shaking hands felt like firecrackers, the wind felt like ice chips.

"Fuck me." I wince, propping myself up on my elbows.

Peter's doe eyes widen at this, cheeks rosy. "Uh -" His voice catches. "'Scuse me?" He stammers, furrowing his brows.

[Not what we meant.]

"What? No - heh, no. 'S not what I meant. Sorry." I hum, grunting as I push myself off the ground. "Morning, Princess." I grin weakly.

Peter still watches me warily, until I sigh. "Skin hurts today." I explain, before I remember yesterday's events.

"Hey, Petey, how are your hands doin'?" I ask, and he silently holds his hands out, palms up. I narrow my eyes at them in satisfaction.

His palms are pink and glossy, with angry red splotches near the pads below his fingers. Good. That's new scar tissue. He'll be fine in a few hours.

He must know that, too, because he doesn't ask my opinion, and makes room for me hastily as I carefully lower myself onto the sofa. "You okay, Wade?" He asks me, worry radiating off of him.

"You worry too much." I mumble, hissing as my body settles into the sofa.

"Does that mean I have a reason to worry?" He counters, and I look at him, smile.

"Shaddup, Petey. You're too smart."

He watches me, something akin to fondness in his amber eyes, softness.

Peter rubs the sleep from his eyes, stands up wordlessly. I lean my head back with a wince and shut my eyes.

I hear him shut the bathroom door. Flush. Wash. The rasp of a toothbrush. The slam of the medicine cabinet. His bare feet on weathered hardwood floor padding back to the sofa. He presses a pill bottle to my chest.

I open my eyes and take the bottle, rattle the pills inside. There are six left. I down them all without water.

Peter widens his eyes at this, snatches the bottle. "Wade - you - the maximum dosage is two."

"Pete, I can fully metabolize two in twenty minutes."

[Wait, wait wait. Did you ever actually tell Peter the extent of your healing factor?]

{That might have slipped our mind.}

He scrunches his nose in thought before sighing, taking the empty bottle from me. "I dunno why I'm surprised; I do the same thing." He shrugs.

The day passes on torturously, and that's saying alot coming from perhaps the most tortured mercenary in the world. We watch television - or, Peter watches television, and I drift in and out of a restless sleep, my head buried in Peter's lap as I try to combat the pain of my skin. It must hurt his still-raw hands, but he spends most of the day lazily sweeping his thumb over my brow in small arches, soothing.

At one point, when I'm curled in a ball too small for someone of over six feet, hands clutching Peter's shirt and eyes squeezed shut in his lap, Peter gets up. Against my better judgement as his bodyguard, he goes to the store without me to get more extra-strength medicine. When he comes back, I'm in the same position on the sofa, and Peter basically feeds me pills.

{Can't even take care of yourself.}

[What a mess.]

"I'm the worst."

"What?" Peter asks, speaking for the first time in a while. He looks down at me.

"'M sorry you have'ta take care of me like this." I murmur. His shirt smells good. Like laundry detergent and something lavender. His hip bone grinds into my cheek a little - skinny boy - but that's okay. I take a breath, sigh in contentedness through the pain.

"Are you serious?" Peter scoffs, and I furrow my brows, peeking my eyes open sheepishly.

"Wade, you -" He laughs then, short and airy. "Wade, you've literally been saving my ass for years. We've always helped each other, even before we knew who we were." He says, eyes wide in wonderment. He looks so pretty. So awestruck.

"You literally gave me your undivided care for over a week when I was recovering. We peed together, Wade." Peter hisses for emphasis, and I break into a laugh. He giggles, too.

"You don't have to apologize. I don't mind taking care of you after… after everything." He promises.

"Yeah, Petey?" I ask, because, holy shit, how could anyone tolerate me for this long.

"You're stuck with me, 'Pool." Peter smiles, and his whiskey eyes glint brightly. "Thanks for taking care of me. It's hard for me to trust people. And I know it's hard for you, too. So, I want you to know that I've got your back." He says quietly; almost whispers it.

{...}

[...Wow…]

I stare at him, eyes wide. Something lumps in my throat, and I swallow thickly. I roll onto my back with a wince of pain, reaching a hand up to brush Peter's hair out of his face. "'S real sweet of ya, Petey. I've got your back, too. Always."

A mutual agreement. An affirmation.

Words have never felt so comforting. Sonance has never come so easily.

I love you.

I sleep the rest of the day, sleep coming in painful dregs and leaving just as quickly. Each time I wake up, whine a few words, Peter shushes me, mumbles something soft, and I fall back asleep.

At ten o'clock, the next time I wake up, something is different. First of all, bless the fucking gods, my skin isn't nearly as painful. My eyes open to see Peter's eyes narrow, phone between his cheek and shoulder as fidgets with his hoodie strings. I watch him curiously.

"I - okay… Is he there right now? What did he find out?" He asks, looks down at me.

A pause.

"And you guys trust him?" He asks.

"Okay. We'll be right there, I guess." Peter says hesitantly, but his eyes are hard. Determined. He hangs up.

"That was Bruce. Their lawyer came and talked to the guy they caught. They want us to come over."

[Oh!]

{It's totally Matt Murdock, AKA Daredevil.}

[I wonder if Peter knows Daredevil. This'll be interesting.]

"Oh! Fun! Murdock and his boyfriend-partner-person are always a pleasure. Sort of." I beam.

"Wait - are you feeling better?" Peter asks, looking down confusedly. I can tell he's panicking about, well, everything, probably.

"I'm a lot better. Hurts like normal now, yanno?"

"No, I don't know. But I'm glad." He says, his hand covering mine nervously. "I was kinda worried. In fights, you're always…okay. I've never seen you hurt for this long." He mumbles, looks away.

[Oh. I'm sad.]

I prop myself up on my elbows, looking at him. "Hey, Baby Boy, you don't gotta worry. I'll always be okay." I tell him, quiet. "I promise."

"How d'you know?" He asks.

"I… I just do, Petey." I say, press a kiss to his forehead. Something aches in my chest.

Silence.

Silence, and I swear that our hears are beating in sync; a wicked rhythm.

"Welp!" I clap my hands, rub them together. "Let's go visit The Brady Bunch."

Notes:

Hope you liked that!

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Chapter 26: A Blind Vigilante, a Mercenary, and a Spider Walk Into a Bar.

Notes:

OKAY. I AM FUCKIN' PROUD OF THIS CHAPTER. IT'S SO LONG AND EVENTFUL?  
I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT.

ALSO, PLEASE READ THE END NOTES.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

PETER PARKER

The tap, tap, tap of our shoes resonate against the pristine floor, no signs of the dangerous shootout that took place here over two weeks ago. Someone unfamiliar sits at the front desk, probably just for show; Jarvis won't let anyone get through who doesn't belong, anyway. The muted bustle of agents flit through the lobby in varying degrees of haste.

There's a dull thrum up and down my spine, the faintest tingle. "I don't like this." I mumble, fidgeting with the web-shooter bracelets hidden under my sweater sleeves. Wade walks beside me, body lax but alert, his eyes scanning the room as soon as we enter.

"You think we're in trouble? Because I've got, like, at least three guns on me -"

I knock into his shoulder in annoyance. "For real?" I ask.

Wade stares at me for a moment, cocks his head. "Yeah. One on my ankle, one on my side, and one… well. I have another." He coughs.

My cheeks flush. "No guns, Wade. We're in one of the most guarded buildings in New York City." I hiss.

To answer his question, "And, not trouble, exactly… I don't know. I think something is weird. Or going to be weird, later." I narrow my eyes, trying to place the feeling, but nothing feels different.

Wade grunts, looks at me from under his hood. "If you think things are about to go south, just give me some kinda hint, okay, Pete? Just like we used to do before. And we'll handle it." He tells me.

It's simple, but reassuring. Years ago, before we knew each other like this, we realized quickly that we had to trust each other during patrol sessions. If a situation went sour, we would need to communicate quickly, effectively. No matter how our views differed, no matter how angry we were with each other, trust was a constant during times of danger.

"Of course."

Before passing the turnstiles to the elevators, Jarvis' dulcet voice assesses us.

"Hello, Peter Parker and Wade Wilson. Tony is expecting you." Jarvis says cooly, but not unkindly.

"Weird." Wade sing-songs under his breath, pulling at the collar of his hood.

There's a beep, and we slip through the turnstiles without problem.

"Thanks, Jarvis." I smile tightly, ushering Wade inside.

"Heh; remember the last time we were in these elevators? You had a concussion and almost got shot!" He remarks brightly, and I stare at him, raising a brow. I can't help but huff out a nervous laugh.

The elevator starts moving with a lurch, and I sigh, trying to keep my nerves in order, trying to assess why my spine is tingling, but not signaling any immediate danger.

"Hey," Wade hums, turning to me. "'S gonna be okay. You know that, right? Whatever they're planning, we'll shut it down. Just like we used to do." He promises me, grinning wide.

I nod distractedly, smiling at the taller man. "I -" I love you. I falter.

"Thank you." I say instead, and he leans close, kissing me carefully.

Floor 85.

"Besides, you and me together? We've been through a helluva lot. We kick ass, Baby Boy. They don't have a fuckin' chance!" He whoops.

I laugh then. "True that, Wade."

Floor 92. The elevator dings, and the doors slide open silently.

I open the double doors at the end of the hall, a nervous lump in my throat. Bruce, Thor, Clint, Natasha, Tony, and Steve are sat on one side of the couch wrapped around the circular fire pit and table, with a tall, slender man in a suit and tinted glasses sitting across from them. He must be blind. The man wears a suit, and an array of papers are in his hand.

"Hello, Son of Parker!" Thor greets me cheerfully, sat at the very end of the sofa, his hammer, Mjölnir, resting on the ground inches away.

Upon our entrance, the man in the suit's head perks up, furrows his brows. He seems to listen for something, and his lips part in surprise, before he smiles slightly, and somehow looks in my direction.

I watch him curiously, narrowing my eyes. The tingle down my spine has neither stopped nor intensified.

Who is he?

Wade makes an excited sound, gesturing between Clint and the man in the suit. "Eyes and Ears! Nice to see you both in the same room!"

"Eyes and Ears? Christ, Wade." I gape.

Clint huffs out a laugh, and the man in the suit smiles feebly. "Hello, Wade." He simpers.

I take a breath; his voice is familiar, his mannerisms.

"I'm not sure what's going on right now, but, Matt, I'm assuming you know Wade." Tony says tiredly. "Peter, meet Matt Murdock, our lawyer. Matt, meet Peter Parker, resident nerd intern."

Matt steps forward confidently, hand outstretched. I shake his hand warily, and I distinctively notice his index finger brush my pulse, head tilted as if to listen for something. He smiles kindly at me, and I cock my head in interest. My spine is still a constant tingle, but not alarming.

Why is he so strikingly familiar?

" Intern , huh? Seems you've got yourself into some trouble, Peter." Matt Murdock says, not rudely, and my eyes widen almost imperceptibly then.

I remember back to the night I went patrolling, and met up with Daredevil.

"And you did nothing to instigate this? This just… happened?" Daredevil asked.

"My internship may have put me at more of a risk at being noticed by those people, but I didn't do anything to instigate it." I assured him.

I had mentioned to Daredevil that my internship put me at an increased risk. I had told that to Daredevil.

I remember something else, then, something that Daredevil told me before parting ways.

"And, hey, if you happen to get one of them in custody, don't underestimate the power of a good lawyer."

He had said that with a funny sort of cadence in his voice that I couldn't place at the time, and here is this man now - a lawyer with a knowing smile and familiar stance.

"Well, this is kinda weird. Not sure what's going on between you two right now, but alrighty." Tony shrugs.

Eventually we all sit around the circular table, and Matt runs timid fingers over the indented pages, clearing his throat.

"Natasha was able to turn them against each other, and got some information out of them." Matt says, and Natasha puffs her chest with sated pride.

"Unfortunately, they were clever; Weapon Plus clearly compartmentalizes their information. Between the two of them, neither one could entirely give me enough information to make a solid legal claim against their organization. I can't legally prosecute Weapon Plus itself, only the people working for it that go after Peter."

I hang onto every word, Wade's hand on my knee and the room silent.

"I was able to put in a restraining order against the two we have captive, and jail time for stalking and attempted kidnapping if any more people from Weapon Plus go after Peter." He says, slightly dejected, tucking the papers into his inside suit pocket.

I sigh, and almost forget the peculiar familiarity of the man in front of me.

"I - at least it's something." I say distractedly. "I'm sure that'll deter them, at least a little bit." I mutter, eyes on Matt, my thumb brushing up and down the denim of my pants for the comfort of their texture.

"You're not… angrier?" Natasha asks reproachfully, because there's a clear sense of outrage and unease amongst the Avengers and Wade upon hearing the news.

"We'll continue providing advanced protection for your aunt and around your home, of course." Steve says reassuringly, and Bruce is watching me curiously.

"And I will stand guard at your home - it would be my pleasure, if you so wish!" Thor says heartily, looking off-kilter in soft pink pajama pants.

"Thank you. I - Really, you guys are going out of your way to figure this out and keep so many people safe." I say lowly.

After seconds of silence, Bruce quickly explains away my odd behavior, claiming that everyone handles stress differently, or some bullshit. I don't know what I'd do if Bruce didn't know that I was Spider-Man - he's been such a huge help to me.

Soon enough, the chatter continues in the room, and I blankly hear everyone throwing out theories as to why Weapon Plus is specifically targeting me, what they could want, why they resurfaced, how to increase my protection. Even Wade is tossing out ideas to throw off the rest of them.

I can still feel the phantom brush of Matt's finger along my pulse when we shook hands, and my mouth gapes as something clicks into a place.

"How do you always know it's me when we run into each other?" I asked, and he smiled kindly, though his masked eyes and the devil horns on his forehead send a chill through me despite his friendly demeanor.

"Everyone's pulse beats just a little bit different from each other. I can hear it." He said, and ran towards the bank.

This cements that the similarities between Matt and my conversation with Daredevil are not, in fact, a coincidence.

I stare in disbelief, realization creeping up on me. Amid the heated bickering in the room, among the crackling of the fire pit, I dare to whisper faintly, "Nod if you can hear me."

I say it so quietly that not even Wade, right beside me, can hear it.

I hold my breath, wary.

From across the sofa, across the loud chatter, across every single noise in the room, Matt Murdock nods.

Daredevil nods.

An excited grin ghosts my lips, eyes bright, tapping my feet quietly to expel energy on the mahogany floor.

"Holy shit. You know that I'm - ?" I whisper, even quieter.

Matt nods again, and this time he laughs a bit, but it falls silent to the noise in the room.

Wade is talking animatedly to Clint, while Steve and Natasha are arguing over the best way to protect me. Bruce and Tony are contemplating strengthening security in every single building remotely affiliated with us and our assets.

I turn back to Matt.

"I can hear pretty well, too, but damn. I can only do it when I really, really concentrate, and it usually only gets that strong when I panic. Anyway, hey, your civilian life is safe with me if mine is safe with you." I say under my breath.

I swear, Matt rolls his eyes under his tinted glasses, and mouths, "Of course you're safe."

We let them talk over each other for a few more moments, before Matt stands abruptly, clears his throat. "I, ah, think I've provided all the legal help I can offer right now. Of course, don't hesitate to call me again if you find anyone else, or they decide to admit something incriminating." Matt chuckles, and then, from his pocket, pulls out a simple, white business card. With a pen, he scrawls something sloppily on the back.

"If you ever need anything, Peter or Wade, feel free to call." He smiles, and hands me the card.

NELSON & MURDOCK

ATTORNEYS AT LAW

(917) 266-5962

On the back, in new wet ink, is a different phone number. Wade peers over my shoulder to read it.

After everyone thanks Matt, and say their goodbyes, and prattle on for another round like adults always do before they leave, Matt is finally gone, leaving Wade and myself with the Avengers.

Just as easily as they stopped, they all began speaking again. It's incredible, I think, in an annoying sort of way, just how used to each other The Avengers are. They're so familiar to being near one another, only interacting with one another, usually only having to collaborate with one another, that they often forget about anyone else in the room.

They are such a family unit that they often forget their guests in conversation.

Ten minutes must pass, with all of them continuing to rant about what is best for my safety.

"He can stay with me and Wade at one of my safe houses." Natasha suggests.

"Uh - I have safe houses, yanno?" Wade butts in, a finger up.

"No, he'd be safer in one of my safe houses." Clint counters to Natasha.

"Hello?" Wade drawls. "I'm a mercenary - I probably have, like, the best protection for him. Which is probably why I'm protecting him." He says.

Ignored again, Thor interjects, "I can take young Peter and Wade to Asgard with me - nobody will find him there."

"Okay, Blondie, I think that might be a stretch." Tony scoffs.

"Let's just increase the people we have guarding his apartment - two at the front and back entrances, one at the fire escape, two outside his apartment door." Steve says calmly.

Bruce sighs, staying silent.

The chatter roars so that they're partially speaking over each other, and my ears are ringing, and my head is rushing, and everything is getting too loud and too bright. I swallow thickly, trying to do what Bruce had suggested and cling to only one sound. It's hard without someone urging me to do so, and my breath feels shallow.

Through the bickering, one suggestion stands out among the noise.

"He should just stay here, under constant security, until we neutralize the issue."

No. No, thank you. Nonononono.

The thought of being constantly around them, being constantly watched, protected, hovered over, surrounded. The thought of having to completely hide my identity for that long, the thought of having to entirely stop being Spider-Man and stop helping, and stop releasing my nervous energy, is too much. Tootootoo much.

"No." I say, before I realize I whisper it.

"No. No. That's - no, that's okay." I say louder, my voice unsteady.

Wade seems to agree with me, but he can tell that something is off, and he makes nervous eye contact with Bruce.

"I - you guys are like six overprotective parents." I stammer. "And you're all very loud, and talking at the same time, and I really appreciate all the effort you guys are putting into keeping me safe, and - and -" I take a breath, standing warily with Wade at my side.

Now that they've stopped talking in unison, I can hear all the residual noise. What a horrible thing, that is. How does Matt constantly live with this?

I can hear each crackle of fire in the fire pit. I can hear the scritch-scratch of Tony's beard as he rubs his chin. I can hear the slip and slide of Wade's clothes against the concealed weapons he has. I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears. I clench and unclench my fists, rubbing shaking fingers against the webshooters numbly.

Steve - ever the parent figure - must tell that I'm overwhelmed, to some extent, because he begins to speak. "Peter, you'll be undoubtedly protected here. We can keep you somewhere where nobody will find you."

My eyes widen. That - that sounds mildly horrifying.

"Kid, ignoring the horrible way Steve phrased that, I think it's best if you stay here." Tony says sternly, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

I grit my teeth. Why can't they just listen to me? Why can't they just let me go back to my house with Wade, where I can patrol with him if I want to, and be myself if I want to, and have some space if I want to, and relish in the quiet and fidget if I want to?

I grunt in annoyance, or in panic, or in anxiety, I don't know. I drag my hands through my hair, huff out a ragged breath. I can feel my hands stick loosely to my hair and I pull them away quickly. "No, just, please, I can't -"

"Peter, this is the safest option." They all seem to insist this at once.

"Please - just - slow down! Stop!" I exclaim, but it comes out ragged, my voice breaking. In frustration, in an attempt to focus on anything, I kick the nearest inanimate object on the ground, hoping to relieve stress, or hoping to focus on something specific, or hoping that the pain will provide some grounding.

What I kick, is Mjölnir.

My foot hurts, bones reverberating with effort.

But Mjölnir shudders.

And then, as if thinking for a moment, Mjölnir slides one foot across the floor from my kick.

My breath hitches, ribs squeezing my heart. I can hear my pulse in my ears, buzzing in my head. Wade, beside me, huffs out a breath. I can hear the pride in it.

What did I just do? And how did I just do it? Is it accurate? Was I able to actually move Thor's hammer, even if only a few inches?

The room is instantly silent.

"Fuck." Bruce murmurs grimly - the first time I hear him curse.

Everyone's eyes are wide, mouths agape and staring at me. Thor, perhaps, is the most shocked. He picks Mjolnir up, to examine it. Everyone turns to him, as if half expecting to find a flaw. He seems to find nothing, and all eyes are back on me.

"I - I don't it. S-sorry. Maybe it was a fluke." I stammer, but even I know it's a pathetic excuse. Between trying to contain my own surprise and shock, and trying to keep my identity hidden, it's too much.

"Kid, who the fuck are you?" Tony says, a look of shock and acute interest across his face.

"Young Peter, you are… worthy. Not entirely worthy, but…" He trails off, waving a hand. "Incredible." He breathes.

Bruce scrubs a hand across his face, through his salt-and-pepper hair. Wade rolls awkwardly on the balls of his feet, but I can feel his arm by his gun.

I take a step back, and hit Wade's chest. He puts a hand on the small of my back to settle me.

Tony is staring at me, silent, and his pensive gaze unsettles me even more. Does he know?

Steve raises placating hands. "Okay, fellas, let's just settle down a little, huh? Let's figure this all out." He says calmly, but even he can't keep the interest out of his voice.

"This doesn't have to be a huge deal - it isn't like Peter was able to bench press the hammer." Natasha scoffs, but she's watching me curiously.

"Yes, but," Thor hesitates, "But, even being able to kick it, as Young Peter did, is incredibly rare. He holds something beyond magnificent in him. Mjölnir isn't fond of being kicked - my hammer would not have moved at all, if Peter was not remotely worthy. Those few inches of movement are… incredible."

My cheeks redden at his implications, that I am even slightly worthy enough to move Thor's hammer, but he isn't helping defuse the situation. I want to draw attention away from me, not put a spotlight on me.

The tingling at the base of my neck is so strong now that it feels as though electricity is shooting down my spine. Wade notices my stiffness and his hand grasps his gun firmly.

Before I even register what's happening, my hand whips up and catches a small, metal toothpick five inches from my forehead - a makeshift dart.

Across the room, Tony's two fingers are still poised in the air, and the olive from the toothpick sits between his teeth before he pops it in his mouth, the empty liquor glass on the table.

"Peter-fucking-Parker." Tony says knowingly, raising a brow. "I've seen those reflexes before, and you know it." He says playfully, and I swallow around a lump in my throat.

When I was fifteen, and Spider-Man for a measly five months, I was in desperate need of a Spidey suit.

My old combination of sweatpants, a hoodie, under armor, and goggles, were disastrous. The goggles weren't filtering out light well enough, and my heightened sensory intake was debilitating for me. The sweatpants weren't letting me be flexible enough, the hoodie made me sweat, and the under armor did nothing to protect me.

So, at fifteen, I broke into Tony's penthouse, and convinced him to make me a suit, on the condition that I show him my skills, so he knew how to best build a costume for my abilities.

And four years ago, at fifteen, Tony threw that same metal toothpick at me.

I clench and unclench my fists, panicking as they stick together.

"Our very own intern, Peter Parker, is Spider-Man." Tony grins.

Clint smirks, then, and holds out his hand. Natasha begrudgingly digs in her pocket and slaps a crisp fifty dollar bill into it. "Knew it." He chuckles.

I feel like I can't breathe. My chest hurts too much to care about their side conversation. My heart hammers against my ribs, and every single minute noise is piercing.

"Uh, were you placing bets?" Wade scoffs.

"Okay, okay, let's give Spidey some space." Bruce sighs.

"Wait." Tony interjects. "Did you call him Spidey? You knew his identity, didn't you?" He accuses almost petulantly. "Why didn't I know!"

My throat tries to strangle something out, and before I have to suffer through answering, Bruce speaks.

"Of course I knew." Bruce says flatly. "I'm a doctor - don't you remember how many times Spider-Man has helped us in the past? I found out ages ago. And, well, Deadpool and Spider-Man have been partnering up for years now, but Wade recently found out, too."

Thor seems elated by this news, his face seems to be glowing more than usual. "Son of Parker! I commend you for your strength!"

It does nothing to tame my growing panic and unrest here.

"But - you're so young." Steve says, hushed. His shoulders seem to weigh heavy on him, watching me differently, worry and pride blended together.

"I had no choice." I breathe. "Did any of us have a choice, really?" My voice is raised, before cracking off into something weak.

"It - it's not like I asked for this. But I grew to love it, and loved helping people, and - and -" I stutter, my body hot and face flush.

"Okay, besides the point." Tony says over the loud tension in the room. "You most definitely need to stay here." He says soberly.

"What?" I blanch. "Why? If anything, you should feel more comfortable letting me go back home with Wade." I say defensively. "You all finally know what I can do, and that I can protect myself. Especially with Wade."

"Yes, Peter," Tony snaps, "You're right. Now we know that you're Spidey - proud of ya, by the way - and, now we also finally know why Weapon Plus wants you. They don't care about some intern. They care that you're the Amazing Spider-Man , with incredible skill and guileless nature, and frequently have access to Stark Tower." He says tersely.

"They don't primarily want to get information out of you - they want to experiment on your advanced DNA."

"I know!" I scream, but it comes out strangled. "I've known all this fuking time, and it's terrifying! And I'm sure you've all seen the YouTube video of me stopping a goddamn sixteen-wheeler truck a few days ago, and that they're getting closer to making a move." I say, and i can barely hear myself talk over the overwhelming sounds of everything else. "But I can handle it like I always do! Alone."

"Peter, we only want to help you." Steve says, his voice low and calm and enticing. "You're still so young, and you could get hurt. You don't know everything out there yet. And now that we know why they want you, we can better help protect you. You're just - we don't want you to get hurt."

"Uh-oh." Wade hums.

"This is why I was scared to tell you all! You're going to treat me like a child, but the reality is, I've been doing this since I was fifteen. I've seen things I never wanted to, done things I never wanted to, gotten hurt, been terrified! And, most of the time, I did it all alone. And I'm still standing."

Nobody interjects.

Anger and panic grip me like a vice, and the world is too bright and too loud and too much. I don't want to be forced to stay here. I don't want to be stuck here. I don't want to be constantly surrounded here. I don't want to. I can't. I canticanticant.

"There is no point in trying to shelter me now, no point in trying to prevent me from getting hurt, because I already have -"

Shocks go through the base of my skull and down my back, and I stumble backward.

"Down. Get down." I whisper, and they all stare, perplexed.

"Get down. Now!" I scream, and they all drop to the ground. Wade shoves me down beside him, his hands over my head, our bodies curled tight on the floor. Amid the chaos, his thumb swipes gently across my hairline.

Natasha is crouched behind the couch, the barrel of her gun poking out of the couch cushions aimed at the window, and Clint is by her side. Steve has Tony and Bruce on either side of him, his shield blocking them all; Tony seems frankly offended by the attack. Thor is behind Steve, kneeled with Mjolnir firmly in his hand.

We all duck right before the wall of windows overlooking the cityscape cracks. A single bullet is wedged in the glass, and Tony narrows his eyes at it from the floor.

"So Spidey Senses are real?" Clint says surprisingly, though his voice is still wary.

"The glass is bulletproof." Tony whispers. "We're fine. It can't be brok-" Then the bullet starts beeping, and a strong, concentrated, and deafening explosion shatters the glass into trillions of pieces, raining down on us in crystalline shards.

The ringing in my ears is exacerbated infinitely, and blearily, I recognize about five more shots going off, all followed by their miniature explosions. Liquor bottles smash and alcohol splashes onto the floor, glasses crack and splinter, Jarvis is droning on about defensive measure he's enforcing, and the stuffing from the couch is billowing down over us in burnt heaps.

"Pete, we gotta go." Wade says into my ear. "You're doin' really good dealing with all their babbling, but we gotta get out of here."

A migraine seems to swell immediately from all the sensory stimulation, and I can barely nod my head in understanding to Wade, but it seems enough for now.

After two minutes of silence, Jarvis calmly pronounces, "Threat gone."

Tony seems to trust this, and pulls himself off the ground, immediately looking around at his penthouse in shambles. He makes a faint squeaking sound, caressing a broken bottle of bourbon.

"Is everyone okay?" Steve asks, dropping his shield to the ground. A chorus of "fine" echoes his question, and everyone seems to sigh in relief.

"Weapon Plus must have seen Matt Murdock leave the building - his reputation precedes him enough for them to know he's a lawyer. They must have known we were all here."

"If they want Peter to experiment on him, why try to kill us?" Clint asks, and I feel bile rise to my throat.

"I think they know Peter can dodge a bullet with ease." Tony says simply. "His reflexes are fast enough to avoid a point-blank shot." Tony says distractedly, narrowing his eyes at the wreckage, as if he can't easily repair it. "They wanted to debilitate us, not him.

They all look down at me, surprised. "Really?" Clint asks, impressed.

I don't answer him. Wade helps me up, and I stumble before righting myself, straightening my back. My mind races as I try to filter out all the background noise, all the piercing stares, all the light, and focus on a plan to get out of the Tower.

"You're staying here. We're trying to help you. You can stay in the basement, heavily guarded, practically impenetrable, and not on the Tower's blueprints. It's where we train. You'll be safe there; you can have free roam of the place." Tony tells me, leaving no room for argument.

"We'll all take turns checking up on you, and we'll neutralize the threat as soon as possible. We just need to keep you safe -"

I stop listening to him. I don't hear anything anymore, just a ringing in my ears. It feels like the walls are closing in, like my skin is too tight for my body, like the lights are blurring together and I'm trapped.

I've taken care of myself for years when it comes to Spider-Man; I've had no choice. The thought of being trapped somewhere where I can't leave, where I can't patrol, where i can expel my energy, where I can be in my own familiar home, where I'll constantly be watched, even if it is for my own protection, is enough to make me move.

"Peter, we want to keep you safe. We're more experienced; we can help protect you. We don't want to hurt you." Steve says, and his words only make me more certain of my plan. I'm not incapable of protecting myself; I crave my independence, free will.

I glance at the window, the clear panes obliterated except for the wayward shards around the corners. I force myself to breathe steadily, arching my back and rolling my shoulders.

Tony seems to understand as soon as the thought leaves my mind. Despite his snarky exterior, and despite his work with inanimate machinery and artificial intelligence, he reads human behavior impeccably. He always has, even when I first met him four years ago.

"Peter, don't you dare. You're not in the right mindset for that and you know it. Let us do what's best for you. It's not like we're imprisoning you." Tony warns, raising his hands before dropping them to his sides in a huff.

"Stark, just let him be. Don't you think he's been capable enough?" Bruce urges, but I know I can't convince them to let me leave on my own.

"Wade." I say, and Tony watches confusedly.

"Yes, Sugar?" Wade asks, as if he doesn't have a care in the world.

"Trust me and jump."

Wade looks at me for the briefest moment, before blowing a kiss to The Avengers. He leaps over the firepit and sofa.

And then he jumps out of the window.

The events that follow happen in under thirty seconds.

Everyone stares in wild shock, Steve running toward the window before seeing no point.

"Jarvis, close it down." Tony yells, and I can feel the groan of bulletproof metal begin to slide down to cover the gaping hole in the wall.

"I don't like being stuck, and I don't like having people make my own decisions, and I don't like people thinking I'm incapable just because I'm young, because I've been forced to grow up a long time ago. Thanks. Really. But don't try and stop me."

I take the same route Wade did, hurling myself over the firepit, ducking under Steve's strong grip. I land hard on the ground, and skid on my bottom through the empty window, narrowly missing the declining metal wall, inches from touching my nose.

The last thing I hear is Tony yelling something angrily about, "Fucking teenage heroes and their fucking complexes."

I know they mean well. But, fuck.

Wind whips through my hair and rattles through my baggy clothes, and I immediately flip, diving head-down through the leaden night sky. I roll my sleeves up, and shoot webs at adjacent buildings, pushing off them and propelling me downward. I immediately feel more relieved, my heart still hammering with adrenaline and panic.

I'm feet above Wade, who looks entirely unphased about plummeting through the air. I shoot a web at him, pulling myself down with such speed that the breath rushes out of me in a pained oof as my thighs wrap roughly around Wade's chest, catching him.

I'm essentially straddling his chest in the air vertically, shooting webs over his back and propelling us forward through the city, crisscrossing skyscrapers and weaving past busy city streets.

"Talk about a killer exit." Wade grins, wrapping his arms round the small of my back to hang on. I smile breathlessly at him, feeling at least minutely better..

Where to go? We can't go back to my place, Clint will probably be there waiting for us and trying to convince us to go back to the Tower.

"Wade, reach into my right back pocket. Get Matt's number off the business card, call him, and tell him to open a window."

Notes:

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NOTE: I've been getting a few people telling me to make a PO box. I found this surprising, but would you guys be interested in that?

Chapter 27: Hideaway.

Notes:

wooo what a surprise! a frequent update! wowie!

hope everyone had happy holidays!

I really like the dynamic between Peter and Wade and Matt together. Expect more! ENJOY!

PLEASE READ THE END NOTES

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

WADE WILSON

Despite being worried about Peter's strength and sensory intake right now, I'm not at all pissing myself in fear over being grabbed by Peter's legs and carried hundreds of feet over the air.

We've done this dozens of times before, Peter straddling my chest and swinging us forward, and me shooting at whatever is behind us. Except, before, we didn't know each other's identities. I can tell he struggles a bit more when he can't use his legs to propel him forward (especially since he's wearing jeans), but he's swinging us through the city with ease regardless.

[Damn those beautiful legs.]

{You can literally feel those lean muscles around your chest.}

"Wade." Peter cuts through my thoughts. "Reach into my right back pocket. Get Matt's number off the business card, call him, and tell him to open a window." He rasps.

"Yeah, sure. You okay?" I ask, worried over the strain in his voice. It's one thing if he drops us and I fall - I'll be fine. But if Peter falls from this height? Better not risk it.

I slip my hand into his pocket, pride myself over not squeezing his ass, because this probably isn't the best time for him, and slip out the thin business card.

"I - ah, I'm okay. I think. Kind of. I wish I had my mask - 'S really bright up here. And loud." He says poorly. "I'll be fine for a few more minutes." He promises.

I take his word for it. "Where's your phone?" I ask him, holding the business card tightly in one hand.

"You didn't bring yours?" He questions shrilly.

"It slipped my mind." I mumble.

Peter doesn't answer for a moment. I can feel his chest rise and fall against my cheek.

"Well. My phone's in my front pocket." He says tersely.

[Ooh.]

"It'll, uh, be hard for you to get to it, since I'm straddling you and your arms are around me, and all." He coughs awkwardly, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to filter out light. "Just be careful where you're reaching." He murmurs.

I glance up at him. He becomes averse to touch when his sensory intake is heightened and more intolerable.

"Okay, Petey. Don't worry." I sing-song, and Peter lets out a big breath, somewhat relieved.

"So," I prompt, distracting him, letting one hand leave his waist. "What brings you here?" I ask, and my hand finds his front pocket.

Peter smiles feebly at this. "Oh, you know. Just running away from The Avengers." I can feel his shoulders shrug, and we swerve around a large skyscraper. Someone's face appears in a high-up window, wide-eyed and staring, and Peter turns his head from his view quickly.

I dig my hand carefully into his front pocket. The muscles in his abdomen clench, and Peter makes a surprised yelp. We drop several feet before Peter shoots another web. "Lower." He huffs.

"My bad. Ticklish much?" I roll my eyes in mock annoyance.

I bite my tongue to avoid laughing, but Peter sees. For a few seconds, he looks like he's ready to hurl me off of him, but then smiles along with me, his adrenaline giving him some much-needed giddy excitement.

I find his phone, pull it out, and dial the number Matt scrawled on the back.

"Hello?" Comes a static response.

"Heya, Daredevil!" I chirp. "It's Wade and Peter."

Matt sighs. "Wade, I've said this before. I am not Daredevil."

I raise a brow. "Yeah, okay. Listen, Daredevil: I know Peter's Spidey, and I know you're Daredevil. Anyway, after you left, the Avengers decided to try and keep him in the Tower for protection, and Peter got all sensory-panicky, and accidentally kicked Thor's hammer, and it skid across the floor a few inches -"

"Wait, what?" Matt gawks.

"Yeah, then Tony and the rest of them found out he was Spider-Man, which is funny because they're always the last ones to know shit. So, then they tried convincing him even more, and then Weapon Plus shot into the building and totally ruined Tony's penthouse. And then, they were even more insistent Peter stay here for protection. Peter told me to jump out the window, so I did, and then he did, and then he caught me." I rant.

"Hurry, Wade. We're about to leave the city. I need to know where to go." Peter urges.

"So, now, Peter and I are swinging away through the city, and we need someplace to crash, because they'll probably show up at Peter's place looking for him. Oh, and also, Peter needs some quiet. And darkness. And nobody touching him or talking too loud." I add on.

Matt doesn't answer for several moments.

"I'm texting you the address. I'll leave the window open. Keep Peter focused." Matt says in resignation, and I can hear the worry in his voice. He hangs up, and soon after, I get a text to an address in Hell's Kitchen.

"Wow." I deadpan. "Daredevil lives in Hell's Kitchen."

If Peter sees the comedy in this, he doesn't exactly show it.

In ten minutes, we end up in Matt's neighborhood, and Peter starts to slow down so we can scour each apartment number.

"There." He says, after some time, and he drops us down rather roughly onto the fire escape. Peter's hair is more tousled than usual because of the wind, dark hair in wayward locks that sit this way and that.

He stumbles, gripping the rusty railing, and I notice that his hand sticks as he pulls it away.

Matt appears at the window wordlessly, and grabs one of Peter's hands. I take his elbow, helping him get his balance, but he ducks under the open window and tumbles inside.

"'M fine… 'S all fine." Peter mumbles.

"Yeah, nice try." Matt huffs.

Matt catches him under the arms when he begins to tip forward, and drops him on the couch.

I put my other leg through the window, shut and lock it, and draw the shades tightly together.

"Nice crib." I nod to myself, looking around. "Kinda dark."

[No shit.]

"Why pay electric bills when you don't have to?" Matt explains. "I can turn them on, though." He makes his way to the light switch on the wall nearest the door.

"Uh, don't do that, please? Can we keep 'em off?" Peter pleads, a childlike desperation in his voice that makes my heart constrict.

"'Course." Matt says, and Peter curls his legs so Matt can sit at the foot of the couch.

"Mind explaining this whole thing to me?" He asks, and Peter looks up at me through bleary eyes, asking me to explain.

So I do. I talk about how Deadpool and Spider-Man have known each other for years, but how Wade and Peter only met after I got assigned to protect him by the Avengers. I talk about Peter's sensory defensiveness, and how it's heightened because of his abilities.

I talk about the nightmare Peter had, the man we bumped into on the street, the subway fight and the chase to apprehend the man and woman. I talk about when I found out Peter and Spidey were the same person, and I talk about what happened after Matt and Peter split up, and how he got the holy shit beat out of him. I talk about his recovery, and what happened when Matt left the Avengers Tower, and the shootout, and how Peter and I jumped out the window and ended up here.

"I - I'm gonna nap now. Please, whisper." Peter says weakly. "Jus' a little nap. A tiny one." He promises, and I raise my brows.

"Alright, Baby. You just take it easy." I huff, and Peter curls up in his side, his elbows covering both ears.

Matt feels for the knit blue blanket draped over the back of the couch, and covers Peter's entire body with it - face, too. "It'll block out some light for him." He explains to me, and the lump that is Peter wriggles tiredly under the blanket.

"So, what, are you going to do? I mean, Peter should probably stay under the radar for awhile until he recovers a bit, but after that? Not that I don't love the company, but it's kind of… illogical." Matt grimaces in a hushed tone.

{He's not wrong.}

"Knowing Peter - and also knowing that I won't stop him - he's probably going to tell the Avengers off." I explain, shrugging.

"They didn't exactly handle the whole thing well. They found out, insisted that he stayed with them, and when Peter said noagain and we tried to ditch, they slid the fucking metal wall down over the window. Leave it to Tony to be dramatic." I sigh, slumping into an armchair adjacent to the sofa.

Matt raises his eyebrows. "Well. Did you expect anything different? And, not to play Devil's advocate - no pun intended - but, they just wanted to help protect him in their own admittedly abrasive way." He laughs a bit, but quickly sobers when Peter does something akin to a growl from underneath the blanket.

"Look," Matt says, quieter this time. "They really do care for Peter. That much is obvious."

[Well, he's right.]

"They all want what's best for him; they just don't really know how to approach someone his age, with his life. Who wouldn't care for him?" Matt says. "Peter's the picture of goodness, as Spider-Man and as a civilian. He puts others before himself, perseveres, and won't stop helping people even when he's nearly dead."

Matt is right. He is. Peter is too good. He's too good for me, at least, that's for sure. Guileless, soft, persevering, kind despite his painful childhood and rough start at being a hero. He never once questioned his life as Spider-Man. For fuck's sake, he was able to move Thor's fucking hammer. He doesn't deserve a semi-rehabilitated mercenary who has no qualms about murdering.

{Well, you murder murderers and villains, if that counts for anything.}

[But Peter would never murder.]

Regardless, he kissed me. He kissed me, and we're dating, and we actually have a bond that has been developing for years. There are some things even I can't fucking explain. He looks soft and content under his blankets now, the world around him and the pain he was feeling now forgotten.

"He's too good for his own good." He says simply. Peter's breaths have long since become paced and deep, asleep.

"He is." I say, looking at the compact bundle of limbs under the blanket.

Moments of silence pass, Peter snoring softly under his blanket. With a great huff, Matt stretches, rubs his index finger over the watch on his wrist.

"Christ, it's late. Midnight already? Sometimes it's hard to stick to a schedule when you can't, y'know, see the changing sky." Matt says with a smile.

Self-deprecating humor. I like it. I grin at him. "You're not bad, Daredevil. I dunno why we haven't hung out as civilians." I tell him.

"Maybe it's because you always jokingly refer to me as Daredevil when I'm being Matt Murdock?" Matt offers.

I ponder this, shrug. "That's true."

"Look," He says, pushing himself off the sofa with ease. "I'll get you all set up - you can both take the guest room." He pronounces before pausing. "You know, because you're obviously dating." He says knowingly.

"Ah, shaddup." I groan, rolling my eyes, and Matt strolls off to prep the guest room.

I walk quietly over to Peter, crouch down and carefully pull the blanket from over his eyes. His lashes flutter, brows knitting against the faint glowing light from the billboards outside Matt's window. It isn't a harsh light, but it must not be pleasurable to him right now.

"Hey, Petey Pie, you gotta get up. Uncle Matty's getting the guest room all set up for us." I whisper to him.

"Mmh." Peter says, which he must deem to be a full sentence.

"Pete, it's like, ten feet." I plead, and he turns his back to me, whining lowly.

I gasp, raising my brows. "You are such a diva."

Nevertheless, I slip my arms under his back and his knees, and lift him off the couch. He instantly curls to my chest, his hands still over both ears. I can feel rather than see his smile, and make my way over to the guest room with Peter in my arms.

Matt is just pulling back new blankets when I come in with Peter. He narrows his eyes before smiling faintly. "Are you carrying him?"

{How does he do that?}

[Crazy blind people senses. Heat sensing or radar-echo-whatever location. It's pretty damn cool.]

"I sure am, Matty." I heft Peter higher in my arms for emphasis.

"Adorable." He goads. "Anyway. I left you extra blankets, some towels."

He gestures to the foot of the bed then. "There's sweatpants for you and Peter, and the bathroom's down the hall on your left." He says.

I thank him, and with one last smile, he pats the doorframe and slips away. He must be tired, too. Who knows if he was patrolling as Daredevil before going to the Avengers Tower and being a lawyer?

I lay Peter down carefully on the bed over the covers, and pull his shoes off. He wakes up just long enough to shimmy out of his jeans, grapple for the sweatpants, and arch his hips off the bed enough to pull the sweats on. In a matter of seconds, he kicks the pants off the bed, rolls onto his belly, puts the pillow over his head, and falls back asleep.

I watch him curiously, shaking my head. "Unbelievable." I gape, huffing out a laugh.

I shut off the lights and close the door, padding over to the only window in the room and making sure it's locked. I glance in every adjacent window, every passersby on the ground far below. There doesn't seem to be anything off. Feeling content with this, I draw the curtains tight. I follow Peter's lead and put on the sweatpants before getting under the covers. I manage to pull the covers over Peter's lax frame, too, with no help from him.

"Goodnight, Pete." I say, curling on my side to face him. "Things are gonna be better tomorrow. Probably. I mean, I guess. No, yeah, things'll be better tomorrow. For sure."

{Great pep talk.}

"'S sweet." Peter murmurs, muffled by the pillow over his ears.

Moments pass, and I think Peter's fallen asleep, when something else sounds from under the plush pillow. "I -" he stammers. Thinks for a second.

"I like you a lot." He murmurs.

It's hard to explain, but my heart feels heavy, but a good heavy. My belly feels warm when I look at this boy - or, the lumpy outline of him from under the covers.

He's soft and warm and good.

I'm less soft, less warm, less good.

But, somehow, still together.

"I like you a lot, too, Peter."

"That's good. G'night." He murmurs, and rolls onto his side, presses his back against my chest.

I wait until his breaths even out before I let myself doze off into a peaceful but alert sleep myself.

We can figure out our next moves tomorrow.


End file.
